Guilty Heart
by Cuddy Cabin
Summary: Days & nights spent with NickOC, CatherineWarrick, SaraGreg as they struggle through the death of someone special to all of them. Nick learns a lesson in love when he falls in love with a C.S.I. from New York, who has a terrible secret of her own.
1. Lonliness

First C.S.I. fic. Please let me know what you think. Story is based on my character, Jamey Kent, and her struggle with the past, the present and the future. Delving into the question of love and if it is possible to be in love with more than one man?

What happens when Jamey is confronted by her past? A past that threatens to ruin her future?

R&R...I live for the reviews!

**Guilty Heart -Prologe**

In another time, another life perhaps, Jamey Kent was sure that she'd done something horrible, decidedly disgusting, and most likely vile. If the way her life had turned out was any indication, she knew that it must have been bad. There were nights that she still dreamed about him, about the life that they had once shared and the love that had seemed unbreakable. She still woke up in a cold sweat, drenched in her own tears, as she relived that final moment again and again. And still, she wondered why her life had turned out the way it did. Karma. It certainly wasn't something to brag about or ignore.

The day that she left New York she thought that her heart had been hollowed out, crushed and forever frozen. She barely remembered the excruciatingly long and painful drive to Los Vegas with all of her worldly possessions in the trunk of her car. Time for a new life; a new start. Only it was something that she'd never wanted.

If she hadn't met Nick in the hallway of the lab after her interview with Gil Grissom, she knew that she wouldn't be in Vegas today. As she was walking down the hall she had accidentally collided with Stokes and sent him crashing to the floor. Feeling terrible and very awkward, Jamey had bent down to help him up. He'd introduced himself and asked her if she'd found an apartment yet. He'd been looking for a roommate and after a cup of coffee and a bagel at the next door coffee shop, he'd offered her his extra room. She'd gotten to know all of her co-workers and found them wonderful. Still, she couldn't forget the past and as hard as she tried she couldn't stop dying and start living. She'd burried it all deep inside, always dodging questions and never giving strait answers about her life in New York. If anyone had known what had driven her away they would surely hate her.

How time had flown since then. Living with Nick had proved to be the best decision she had made in a long time. They were perfectly suited to one another, always getting along and having mostly all of the same interests and hobbies. They watched movies, went out for dinner or just took a long walk around the neighborhood. The feelings that ran between them sometimes felt like so much more than friendship. But being too scared of getting involved again, Jamey had kept her distance through it all. The only thing that scared her was knowing that one day Nick would find another woman to spend time with, to cook dinner for, to love. The thought of him being with someone else bothered her to no end but she knew in her heart that he would never want to be with her if he knew the truth.

And yet, there was no more comfortable feeling for her then the feel of his arms around her when he picked her up off the couch to carry her into bed, or when he hugged her close because he knew that she needed it. Never asking any questions or probing into why she was so secretive about her past, Nick had become the only person she counted on.

Wanting to be loved and actually deserving someone so fine were too different things, she reasoned with herself time and time again.

So, why did it hurt so much to always be alone?

**Chapter One**

"Hey Jame, you want to go to Ozzie's for breakfast or what?"

Jamey looked up from her microscope and grinned at her roommate, not surprised in the least by his question. In the year and a half that she had been living with him she had never once seen him miss a meal. The guy had an eternal tapeworm. "Stokes, do you ever stop thinking about food?" She teased, as she slid the specimen underneath and leaned down to adjust the zoom lens.

"Come on, bugger..." She muttered to herself. "This thing never seems to work for me, you know."

"What's the problem, little lady?" He said in his most charming Texan accent, hoping to make her laugh. Anything to see the corners of her mouth turn up into a smirk and her deep green eyes sparkle. It only seemed like it had been the last six months that she'd actually let down her guard. For the first year that they lived together, all he knew about her was that she loved veggie pizza, hated meat and loved to have long bubble baths in the evenings. She'd never mentioned family. She'd never said and he'd never asked, knowing that even if he did ask she'd shoot him down.

What had started as a mutual arrangement to share an apartment had slowly turned into a friendship so deep that Nick had trouble at times separating the way he felt towards Jamey, as a roommate and how he felt about her as a single woman. She'd come to him on her first day in Las Vegas without a place to live, and truthfully, when he saw her for the first time he'd been smitten, but that had only been her looks at the time. The more time they spent together, the more he realized that she was the one person he wanted to be with. The trouble was that he had no idea how to bring up the subject with her.

While always outgoing and friendly, he had noticed, as had his other co-workers, that she didn't talk about her past. Nothing. All they knew was that she was from New York and that she had wanted a change. She'd packed her bags and drove her Eclipse all the way to Vegas. That had been a year and a half ago, and Nick still was no closer to finding out the reasons why. He'd asked a couple of times, why she'd left and the look of hurt on her face was too much to bear, so he'd dropped it.

In time he was confidant that he'd find out. The weird thing was that she did nothing outside of work that would suggest that she was interested in finding a boyfriend. No dates, no dinners, no men coming over to pick her up, and truthfully, that was the way Nick liked it. No competition, no horribly awkward moments of meeting a man who wanted to go out with her.

"Maybe I can help."

"You sure your stomach can handle the wait, Billy Ray?" She asked sarcastically, imitating his accent badly. Being a New Yorker through and through, she butchered the Texan accent, and she knew it. She always called him Billy Ray when he used his southern accent, even though she thought it was cute and definitely more than a little charming. Nick Stokes was a lady killer, plain and simple. It wasn't just his good looks, or his charm; it was his winning personality and his kind heart that had won her over. Jamey was sure that she'd never had a better friend in her whole life...well, at least not in the past five years anyhow. And the past was something that she had left in New York and didn't intend on dredging up ever again. There were just some things better left unsaid.

Nick came further into the room and folded his arms over his sculpted chest as he watched her doing what she did best; which was damn near about everything. He watched her as she adjusted the microscope again and again, trying to get it the way she wanted. He felt the corners of his mouth turn up into a smile as she watched her delicate brow arch and furrow as her exasperation grew and grew.

Her long dark hair, which he loved and longed to run his fingers through, lay in soft waves half way down her back. She was by far the best looking girl he'd ever met, and he'd met a lot of women—but it was her brain that stimulated him more than anything else had. She was smart. Damn smart and she knew her job inside and out. Her career as a C.S.I. had been the Departments good fortune.

He still couldn't believe that they were actually living together. Granted, it was platonic, which he wasn't crazy about, but he still considered himself a very lucky man to at least share an apartment with her. She was a lot of fun to be around and definitely looked great in her little tank tops and pajama bottoms that she was forever walking around in.

"I'll have you know that eating a balanced diet is essential to an all round healthy life, missy." He dead-panned.

"Thanks for the tip, Nick, but I really can't go right yet. Grissom needs this sample finished and if I go out for breakfast with you than it won't get done."

The disappointment was evident in his eyes, but he did well to cover it up. Unspoken words hung in the air around them, dancing, taunting, wanting to spill secrets of a thousand words, but words, nevertheless, that would change everything.

"That's okay." He lied. "I really only came by to see if you'd lend me ten bucks."

She snorted and looked up at him, her green eyes squinting, a half smile on her face. "I knew it! I knew that's what you were looking for, you louse!"

He came around the side of the workbench and put his arm around her shoulder, filling the space between them and making Jamey almost dizzy with the smell of his cologne. "Oh come on, baby, you know you love me."

"Nick–"

"Just ten bucks." He play-whined, pouting his bottom lip out toward her.

She fake elbowed him and gently pushed him away. "Okay, you can have ten bucks–but on one condition."

He raised his eyebrow suggestively. "And what would that be?"

Jamey rolled her eyes as she dug into her back pocket, looking for the money. "That you bring me back one of those yummy bagels with strawberry cream cheese." She stated firmly, holding the money in her fist, not about to let it go until he agreed to her terms.

"Deal." He said, and snatched the money from her hand. "Although I think you should be eating more, Jame. You've lost weight."

"Thanks mom. I'll eat later." She said, giving him one of her furious little looks, meant to say 'lay off'. She never could understand why he was so concerned by her eating habits. He never laid off and actually cooked breakfast for her most days. She knew she shouldn't complain, considering the obvious, but sometimes Nick just seemed to be overly concerned, like she had an eating disorder or something. He wouldn't be so friendly if he knew the truth about her, she thought to herself, as she gazed into his face.

"Uh, huh."

"What? I said I'll eat...when you bring me the bagle, Billy Ray." She said, turning back to her microscope. "Now hop to it. I gotta finish this."

Nick gave her a mock salute. "Yessss maaammmm."

"Oh, and Stokes?"

He turned back around from the doorway. "Ya?"

"Get your buns in gear or I'll make sure you never take another hot shower again."

"Oh darlin, you're breaking my heart." Was his reply as he walked out the door.

Jamey continued to observe her specimin but soon was too distracted to carry on.

"Ya, and what about mine?"

Are we going to continue? Do ya'll want to know who Jamey's heart was broken by in New York? Ah...a little secret: Review and you can have anything you want!


	2. Hesitation

**Guilty Heart- Chapter Two**

After an uneventful weekend of sitting back on the couch and watching old reruns on TBS, both Nick and Jamey were glad to get back into the lab. Confessed workaholics, neither of them minded the witty banter that they got from their other co-workers, most of which were one in the same. And although everyone around them had noticed just how close the two had become, no one said a word about the chemistry the pair had (at least to their faces), knowing that eventually the two of them would end up together. Warrick and Sara had started taking bets about six months before on how long it would take. Just when would that be?

The answer was inconclusive. It was just a matter of time.

After two cups of coffee and half a bagel, Jamey was ready to tackle her day head on. Dressed in her black pant suit and her high heel boots, she looked like she was on her way to a fashion show, not to a grizzly crime scene. Several male co-workers, none of whose name she knew, cast appreciative smiles her way as she passed on her way to the break-room, completely unaware of how beautiful she was.

At just under one-twenty, her slender body was considered 'perfect', her long hair like Venus, and her smile like diamonds. The wonder of it all was that she didn't even know.

"Good morning, Jamey." Came the voice of Greg Sanders, who was just coming out of the lab. "Aren't you looking like a million bucks today." He said, grinning widely.

"Good morning, Greg." Jamey smiled. "You always make me _feel_ like a million bucks." She gave him a playful wink as she passed.

"Don't do it if you don't mean it."

It was no secret that Greg had a crush on the senior CSI. Most guys in the department did, but Greg was always kind to Jamey and she liked him just fine, just not in a romantic way.

At ten to nine, she sat down at the conference table after grabbing another cup of Greg's famous coffee and waited for the assignments to be passed out. Warrick Brown strolled in whistling a jazzy tune and his blue eyes lit up when he saw Jamey sitting there.

"Hey J, what's up?" He asked, as he grabbed a coffee and danish and flopped down in a chair opposite her.

"Nothing. Just thinking that if I have any more coffee today I'll blow up."

"So, are you and Nick gonna come to the Lounge this weekend and hear me play or what?"

Warrick had been moonlighting at the Tangiers Casino once a week playing piano. He was terrific and in Jamey's opinion he should have been a professional musician.

"Of course." Jamey smiled. "You know we wouldn't miss your playing for anything."

"Great. I'm really glad that you two're coming."

The two lapsed into a comfortable silence for a few minutes. Warrick was one of Jamey's favorite people in Las Vegas besides Nick. Always warm and caring, he had made her feel at home from the first day they'd met. Sometimes on the weekends the three of them would go out and play pool or go to dinner and a movie. Lately Warrick and Catherine had been seeing a great deal of each other and as a result Jamey and Nick were a little out of the loop. But when Warricks face turned downcast as he watched for signs of anyone coming into the room, she took the opportunity to ask her friend what was going on.

Jamey sipped her coffee. "So, what's up with you and Catherine anyway? You two not getting along?"

His eyes darkened and he shook his head. "She won't talk to me or nothin, Jame. I don't know what to do anymore." He leaned forward and lowered his voice an octave. "I mean, we're dating, not just foolin around— really dating. I don't see what the problem is. I told her I'd be there for her and she slams the door in my face." He held his hands wide. "What the hell did I do wrong?"

It was no secret with in the lab that Catherine and Warrick weren't getting along—at least for the past week. Any time he went near her she would ignore him. Everyone saw the hurt in his eyes and just about everyone knew how in love with her he was. It had been a long time coming, their getting together and now it seemed that something had definatly turned sour. And even though Jamey knew the truth behind it she wouldn't say it out loud and neither would he. No one was ready to have it said out loud.

She took a deep breath and pushed her hair back behind her ears. "I don't know what to tell you, Rick—maybe you weren't saying what she needed to hear, know what I mean?"

"No–what do you mean?" He narrowed his eyes. "She told you didn't she?"

She nodded. "I found out by accident actually. I guessed and she didn't deny it."

"That sounds like her."

Jamey chuckled and gave him a sad smile. "However I have been threatened with death if I so much as breathe a word of it to anyone else."

"J, what did I do wrong?"

Jamey sighed and tried to think of a way to explain it to him without giving away too much of her own emotions. She clicked her nails on the table and chewed her bottom lip as she contimplated. "I mean that maybe she needed you to tell her that everything was going to be okay–that this wasn't all on her—not all her fault." She looked toward the ceiling, thinking about how many times she'd had the same conversation with her ex in New York, how it had turned out. "Did you tell her that you're head over heals in love with her?"

Warrick's deep blue eyes clashed with her own and he quickly looked down. In those eyes Jamey saw the same familiar pain and hurt of her past. "Not yet—I mean we've only been together for two months. I figured that I'd scare her away if I told her how much I love her."

"Rick, you gotta let her know how you feel." Jamey whispered, reaching out and putting her hand on top of his. "Even if you think you're gonna get shot down. You owe to her, especially now, to tell her how crazy you are about her".

Warrick chuckled. "And maybe sometime you'll follow suit?"

Her face froze for a moment and she licked her lips. "Suit?"

"I mean you and Nick." He said simply.

"I don't know what you mean." She said, a little too quickly. "We're friends. End of story."

He raised his eyebrows. "Jamie, are _we _friends?"

"Of course we are—what kind of question is that?" She asked, curtly.

"Why are you so afraid?" He asked just as curtly. "Why won't you trust me with your life the way I trust you with mine?"

"I'm not afraid. I just don't like talking about my personal life. With anyone."

He sighed. "Seems to me that you've got it all figured out— what to tell me about my life and don't get me wrong—I appreciate it. But J, you've got to a right to be happy too."

"Warrick— "

"Jamey, I—"

"Don't go there. Ever." She said, tears starting to well up in her deep green eyes.

Whatever had happened to her in her past had scarred her in a way that was everlasting. Warrick looked down at his coffee and sat in silence and hoping that he hadn't driven her away. It was clear from her posture and the faint tremble in her hand that he had definately hit a sore spot.

Jamey cleared her throat and sat back in her chair, removing her own hand from his and Warrick, being a very intuitive man, made no mistake that he had crossed the line. She wouldn't allow anyone to come inside her boundary lines. For Nicks's sake, he hoped that his friend could break down those walls. For her sake as well. She was an amazing woman and she deserved to be happy. And if it was any indication, Warrick Brown knew that his friends were both in love, even if they wouldn't admit it.

What had happened to her to make her so afraid?

Making it clear that she wouldn't discuss personal feelings, Jamey leaned forward, feeling a bit guilty for having Warrick open up his heart to her and not returning the favor, and gave him a small smile. The only reason she was still in the room was because she considered him a wonderful friend. If it had been anyone else she would have bolted as quickly as she could.

"Rick, can you do this? Can you let it all hang out? Catherine's no doubt scared to death of getting involved again. Don't you think that could be it?"

"I dunno—maybe." He said, running his hand over his forehead, resigned to the fact that they would only be discussing his personal life, which was in shambles at the moment. "But you'd think that she'd know that I'm a standup kind of guy. I can't believe that she's torturing me like this."

"Who's torturing who?"

The pair looked up as Sara Sidle entered the room, a quizzical look on her face. She took the seat beside Warrick and raised her eyebrow.

"Don't you mean _whom_?" Jamey asked, giving Sara a lame look that said the conversation wasn't a happy one.

Sara scrunched up her face and rolled her eyes. "Okay, _whom_ it is–and just exactly whom is it?" She asked as she bit into an apple.

Warrick groaned. "This isn't the news department Sara. If I wanted my business known by everyone I'd of put up a bulletin." He stood and shoved the last of the danish in his mouth and wiped his hands on his jeans. "Thanks ladies but I have to find someone." He started to walk away but turned back before he reached the door. "Thanks Jame. I really appreciate it—and I hope there's no hard feelings."

"No problem Rick— and no hard feelings. Just do what you think is right." Jamey answered with a smile.

"What was that about?" Sara asked.

"Nothing." Jamie lied. "Just wanted to know if Nick and I were coming to hear him play this weekend."

"And the hard feelings were—" She fished.

"Really no big deal." Jamey finished and then took a long drink of her coffee. No matter what, she'd never repeat a conversation that was held in confidence.

Grissom came in the door holding all of the days assignments. "Good morning ladies." He said in his monotone voice, barely looking up from his sheets of paper.

"Morning Gris." Sara said brightly, as she shifted into a more comfortable position.

Upon not hearing or seeing any of the rest of the team, he looked up and gave them a confused look. "Where is everyone?" He asked, slightly irritated, quickly scanning the rest of the break room. Grissom hated tardiness and made no attempt to hide it.

Catherine stuck her head in the door for a brief minute. "Uh, Gris—I'll be there in a minute." She flashed a quick look at Jamey, her blue eyes blazing with anger. "I've got to— do something." She finished, nodding in Jamey's direction, and mouthing 'bathroom' to her.

"I need you in here now, Catherine." He said. "It's ten after nine on my watch. What time is it on yours?"

She didn't bother to reply, just dashed off with "I'll be back in a sec."

"So what are the rest of them doing? Baking bread? Learning needlepoint?" He asked looking up at the ceiling not really expecting an answer.

That earned him a giggle that quickly extinguished when the two women saw what a bad mood their superior was. Sara cleared her throat and gave him a smile while Jamey looked down at her hands.

"Greg is at the morgue—something that Doc Robbins needed." Sara answered, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"And no one on this team wore a watch today?"

Jamey stood up and drained the last of her coffee. "Uh, boss—do you mind if I go to the bathroom?"

He threw up his hands in disgust. "Why not? It's not like we do anything of real importance anyway—just solving crime."

"Thanks. I'll just be a minute."

"Ms. Kent?"

"Ya boss?"

"Do you know where the rest of our team is?"

"Uh–Nick is at the lab finishing up on something Ecklie asked him to do." Jamey said. "And Warrick's here, he's just—doing something—or finding someone." She faltered, not wanting to make a big deal out of it.

"Who?" Grissom asked

"Don't you mean whom?" Sara said with a grin. "I believe the correct word is whom."

Grissom shook his head and looked down at her over the rim of his glasses, annoyed.

"What did they put in the water this morning?"

So, is anyone else interested in finding out what else is going on with our gang? What's up with Warrick and Catherine? With Nick? What about the boy from New York? Why is Jamey so afraid?

R and R...let me know what ya'll think.


	3. Confusion

Later that day...

"What happened, man? I thought I'd stepped into the war zone back there!" Nick jerked his thumb behind him as he and Warrick made their way to Nick's Denali.

He was referring to the scene that Warrick and Catherine had made in the Trace lab a few minutes before. Warrick had tried to talk to her and she threw an empty glass beeker at him. Her blue eyes ablaze, and her reddish blond hair down around her face, she truly could look like the devil when she wanted to.

"I don't have anything to say to you." She said cooly, when he entered the room.

"Cath, I told you I'd be there for you. I'm crazy about you." He said, lowering his voice so no one else could over hear.

"Uh huh."

"I want this–what ever it is. I don't want to lose you." He said, thinking about the conversation that he and Jamey had had previously. He reached out and put his hands on her shoulders. She wouldn't even look at him.

"Uh huh."

She turned her back to him, her tiny frame so small next to his large one. He thought he saw a shudder pass through her shoulders but couldn't tell if he was calming her down or making her angrier.

He soon found out.

He dropped his arms to his sides, as if she had scalded him. "I just want to _talk_ to you, Cath–why won't you talk to me?" He'd asked, and spread his arms out. "_What did I do?" _

"_Nothing_." She'd hissed at him. "Now go away."

"Cath– "

"I _said _go away." And with that she had hurled the beeker at him. He'd ducked and it had smashed on the floor.

"What the hell—" He yelled, his face turning angry. "Get a grip Cath!"

"You get a grip. What the hell did you think this–"she waved her hand between them. "was, a field trip? Try it on and see if it fits?"

"What are you talking about?" He shouted, terribly wounded by her harsh tone and red hot anger.

She narrowed her eyes until they were mere slits. "Nothing. Now go away!"

Unfortunately the only person who had witnessed the exchange was Hodges, who immediately complained to Ecklie, who in turn, had dragged both Catherine and Warrick into his office and told them that they'd both be on suspension if either one of them ever pulled a stunt like that again. Needless to day, Hodges was number one on both of their hit lists...forever.

"Don't go there—just don't go there." Warrick mumbled, pushing his sunglasses down over his eyes. "She's drivin me _crazy _man."

Both put their kits in the back and Nick slammed the door. "What did you do to her?" He asked in bewilderment. "I'm sure as hell glad that_ I _didn't do anything to her. She's nasty when she's worked up over something."

Warrick sighed. "You have no idea how true that is." As both men got into the vehicle they exchanged knowing glances.

"She's like a devil woman when she's angry, Nick. She's got the worst temper I've ever seen on a female."

Nick grinned, despite the situation. "But what a female she is, man. What a female."

Warrick widened his eyes. "True. Very true."

Both men rode in silence until they had reached the scene they were to investigate. A routine b&e, both of them were glad for the excuse to get to work. There wasn't much time to ponder on your personal life when you were working and it took so much brain power.

"You take the front and I'll get the back?"

Nick nodded and proceeded to get his kit ready. About half way to the front door his cell phone rang. Stopping and dropping his kit to the ground ,he looked at his caller id. It was Jamey.

"Hello darlin." He drawled into the receiver. "What can I do for you?"

He listened for a minute. "Uh, huh. Ya that sounds good. I'll meet you in the locker room about six then?—Yep. Good. See you then." He snapped the phone shut and shoved it into his back pocket.

"What are you grinnin at?" Warrick's voice interrupted.

Nick snapped back into reality. "Nothing. Just setting up plans for tonight." He said.

"Ya. Plans with a certain female co-worker who also happens to be your roommate—and a so-called friend?"

Nick rolled his eyes. "We are just friends you know. It is possible for us to just really get along well and enjoy each others company."

"Um hum." Warrick said. "You two just keep tellin yourselves that. Next thing you know you'll be in the same boat as me and Cath."

Nick grinned, then let out a small whoop. "If it's anything like what you've gone through today I think I'll stick with dinner and a movie with my best friend."

"Mark my words, Stokes. Your turn is comin." Warrick grumbled, then walked away to get to work.

**Meanwhile...**

Sara, Catherine and Greg were all called to a murder of a wealthy Louisiana couple at the Brodin Hotel. The day was hot and the CSI's were all feeling irritable, especially Catherine. As Greg collected blood samples from the spatter on the wall of the room, Catherine and Sara went to work on photographing the body and looking for other evidence before David got there to declare the TOD.

"You're not going to tell me what that was about?" Sara asked as she snapped shots of the dead man and his wife.

"What _what_ was about?" Catherine huffed, clearly understanding, but not wanting to talk about it.

Sara sighed. "How come nobody tells me what's going on until the last minute? Why am I always the last to know?" She whined. She continued to photograph the bodies.

Catherine snorted. "Because once you find out something you won't let it go." She bent down and collected a stray hair from the woman's blouse and put it in an evidence bag. "Trust me, Sara, you're better of not knowing."

Sara set her camera on the dresser next to the bed indignantly. "I do not!" She exclaimed. "I'm just concerned, that's all."

Greg laughed. "Cath doesn't want her life story on the news. That's why." Catherine looked up and grinned at Greg.

Sara walked over and slapped Greg on the head. "I'm not like that! Shut up, Sanders!"

"Sorry—jeez, you'd think that it was a secret or something." He said, winking at Catherine.

"What was that supposed to mean?" Sara shrilled, hands on her hips. "As a matter of fact I happen to be a very dependable confidant."

Catherine raised her eyebrows. "Oh really–and by dependable you mean that as soon as I'm out of earshot you'll be discussing my problems with whomever is left in the room?"

Point taken. Sara knew that Catherine was referring to Sara telling Hodges about the relationship in the first place. Sara sighed. "I already told you I was sorry about that. He wanted to know."

"Uh huh." Catherine turned back to collect some more hair and fibre samples. "And I already told you that I don't want to talk about it anymore today."

Sara walked over to the bureau to retrieve another roll of film. "Or what—you'll throw a beeker at me?" She mumbled under her breath.

"What did you say?" Catherine looked up at her, fire returning to her blue eyes.

"I said I think my beeper went off." Sara grumbled.

"That better be all you said." Catherine snapped. Seems that everyone was getting on her case today. She just didn't want to talk about it. She didn't even want to think about it. Not that she didn't appreciate the sentiment but Sara sometimes really opened her mouth when she shouldn't. She hadn't even talked to Warrick yet, not that that was his fault. She just wasn't ready for things to get so serious between them.

And if she had to talk to him than she would have to admit that she was crazy about him too, even that she loved him.

And she wasn't ready to go there.

Yet.

"Grissom was right."

"About what?" Greg asked, standing up and reaching over to put his samples in his kit.

"There definitely is something in the water today."

**And back at the lab...**

"You just about ready to go?"

Jamey looked up and grinned at Nick. "Yup." She stood up and put her long hair up in a quick messy bun. "Not that I did much to prepare. I hope you aren't talking me anywhere nice." She looked down at herself, not realizing that she more dressed up than most women on the street.

Nick opened his locker and grabbed his baseball cap. "I'd say you look more beautiful than you did this morning, Miss Kent."

Jamey blushed. The last time she had had close contact with another man, she'd been engaged to him. It felt strange to her that she would feel so close to Nick, so at home, when all she'd done for the past few years was run.

"And sorry to disappoint, but I am taking you somewhere nice."

"Why Mr. Stokes you sure do know how to please a lady." She flirted, then blushed again because of the innuendo. She felt her face turning red. "I mean—you know what I mean." She mumbled, looking down at the floor for a minute.

He leaned in close and winked at her. "I know what you meant." He said, so close she could feel his breath on her face. "Don't worry about it."

Jamey could smell the sweet smell of his cologne and for one moment she thought he was going to kiss her. Her lips parted and she stared at him, pupils dialated, heart racing.

However, he moved back and waited for her to pick up her purse, then offered her his arm. She accepted, throwing him a small smile. As if he would ever want to kiss her.

"Oh, and just for the record–" He said, grinning wickedly. "I _do_ know how to please a lady."

**In New York...**

He sat back on the couch after a long day and turned on the baseball game, beer in hand. He stretched out his long legs and crossed one ankle over the other and glancing at the clock ,realized that he had totally forgotten to eat supper.

He finished his beer and clanked it down on the coffee table and involuntarialy cringed, hoping he wasn't making too much noise. An automatic habit, one that didn't stop just because she had left him. Of course, he shouldn't have worried, as there wasn't anyone there besides himself.

Not anymore.

He sighed and tried to swallow the bile that threatened to rise in his throat every time he thought of her. She'd been gone so long, but it only seemed like yesterday. Even though tragedy had struck almost three years before it was only a moment in time, a pause in his everyday life. Time had almost stood still for him and looking back, he knew that it would never be the same.

As he had learned to do, and did every night of his new life, he prepared dinner for one; A very sorry tv dinner that looked like the picture of the turkey and vegetables on the cardboard box would taste better than the contents inside. He shoved it in the microwave and shut the door.

Waiting for the dinner to cook, he stood with his back to the cubbord and crossed his arms over his chest. There hadn't been any messages on his machine or at work, so he knew that once again she had moved on. His eyes moved to the table where her picture still stood. Black and white photograph, the two of them smiling, her eyes sparking and beautiful. Her long brown hair down around her shoulders. He'd loved to run his fingers through it, loved the way she'd smelled. In that picture they had their arms around one another, his hands around her stomach, with her head leaning back against his chest. His heart constricted as he looked at it again and remembered all of the times they'd shared—everyone they'd shared. He wondered if it was possible to die of a broken heart. She'd been physically gone for a year and a half, but mentally she had been gone for almost three years.

For the first six months, even though living was a daily battle, he'd hoped that she'd eventually come around and they could have some resemblance to the life they'd once shared. Coming home day after day to see her so unhappy was worse than if they'd lived apart. That way he wouldn't have had to see her crying constantly.

Just when he though that he couldn't take another day of the crying, she'd shut down completely and didn't even talk to him. Not a word. Not a syllable. It got so that he would stay at work longer and longer just so he wouldn't have to come home. He'd made a horrible mistake, one that could never be rectified no matter how hard he'd prayed and begged for forgiveness. None of it mattered. It wouldn't change what had happened.

Nothing could change what happened.

And so, another six months went by, and he'd stared sleeping on the couch when he had come home from work, on the nights that he hadn't found his way to his partners house after an evening of binge drinking. And the worst part about it was that she didn't care. Didn't care at all.

Stumbling home, he'd make his way inside, hoping that today would be the day that she had come back to him; the day where she would forgive him and love him again. Once inside, he was greeted by a cold couch and an evening by himself, for she had shut herself in their bedroom again, clustered with all the photo albums she could get her hands on. Always living in the past. Never, ever, with the future.

Feeling forever alone and unloved, he would pass out and go to another world; the world where the guilty hearts stayed; where they all gathered to reminise about what they had done wrong. And every morning he would wake up feeling as if he was the worst man in the world.

By the end of the next six months, he knew that it was over. The pain was still severe, but not quite as bad as it had been. His guilty feelings had intensified, his self esteem plummeting more and more each time that he made love with his partner. Craving for human contact with someone who didn't think he was awful was his undoing, his temptation with the devil and he had succomed time and time again. And even though it felt good, amazing at times, he felt so guilty that he could hardly look himself in the mirror.

After months of sneaking around, he'd finally told her the truth. She'd taken it better than he'd expected she would. He'd come home from work after breaking it off with 'the other woman', his partner, and came into their bedroom. He'd sat down on the blue velvet chair and ran his hands over his face; which was something that he did when he was extremely upset.

"I want to talk to you. I need to talk to you." He'd said, his voice deep and gravelly with emotion, his New York accent turning thicker with emotion. As he spilled his story, she sat unmoving. The only indication that she'd heard him was her occasional sniffing and that was only because she'd had a cold.

To tell the truth, she'd hurt him as much as he'd hurt her and he wanted to get back at her, make her feel something, _anything_. He wanted her to yell and scream; to punch him in the face, make him swear that he'd never look at another woman as long as he lived. Made him promise that he'd make love to her forever. He wanted a reaction. He didn't get one.

And he would have agreed to it all if he could have had her back in his arms—not even all of her—even some of her would have been enough.

He'd thrown her prescription bottle's of medication in her face, claiming that they were turning her into a zombie. She'd calmly watched him as if he were the sick one, blinking, staring at his display. He wanted to talk; needed to talk if it was the last thing he ever did. He yelled, he cried, he threw things. She laid in their king sized bed, the covers pulled up to her chin, and listened. Unmoving.

"There has got to be more to life than this, Jamey! I can't do this anymore!" He'd cried, the tears that he'd held so long, now streaming down his face.

She threw off her covers and jumped up and for one second he thought that she was going to comfort him or hug him. She crossed their bedroom, her bare feet barely touching the hard wood floor as she took out a pair of jeans and a fresh t-shirt. He watched her from his position on the wingback chair across from the bed as she got dressed.

She'd dressed in a flash and put her long hair up into a ponytail. She never looked at him once.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm leaving."

And it didn't matter how long he tried to talk her out of it; She packed her bags, called a hotel and loaded whatever she could fit into the back of their car, now _her_ car. He'd told her to talk it; If she was leaving him he might as well have been dead, and he told her so.

She had called work the next day and quit her job. Within the same day she decided to go to Las Vegas. She'd always wanted to go there and now, it seemed, that she had the chance she'd always wanted. One phone call from their superior officer and she had herself an interview with the prestigious Dr. Gil Grissom. Even before she drove away he had known that she'd get the job. She never failed at anything.

She didn't turn back, didn't look in the rearview mirror as she drove away from the love of her life; Didn't say a word as she'd left him on the sidewalk. And it seemed to him that nothing he'd ever do with the rest of his life would be as important as getting her back.

And now she was gone.

The microwave beeped and he took out his dinner and slapped it down on the table. Sitting down, he looked around his lonely kitchen and sighed.

A year and a half later he was still no closer to getting over Jamey Kent than he had been the day she drove away.


	4. Hurt

**Guilty Heart- Chapter Four**

After a wonderful dinner at one of Las Vegas's trendiest restaurants Nick and Jamey went for a walk along the strip, taking in the scenery and eating ice cream cones.

Jamey had been surprised, not just by the restaurant, which was very expensive, but by the attentive way that Nick had treated her; Not only did he order their dinner but he also picked out a very classy wine from the list and he also pulled out her chair for her. He treated her like a princess, much like her ex in New York did—the trouble was that the better Nick treated her the more guilty she felt

At times like this Jamey wished that Sigmond Froid were living so she could run into his office and flop down on his couch and pour out her heart. No matter how far away from New York she went, the painful memories followed her, haunted her, and made sure that she was never completely happy.

Most of the time she was resigned to the fact that her past was her own fault, that nothing would ever change it, and that she was destined to live the rest of her life in regret—but sometimes she felt herself slipping and she would dream about what life would be like with Nick Stokes not as her roommate but her lover or her husband. She imagined that he would be a wonderful father but quickly shut down those thoughts, as she had vowed never to think about that subject and what it entailed. Friendship was what was important; A good friendship with someone you could trust, she had decided, making that feminine part of herself take the backseat. Again.

She looked over at him as they walked and grinned. He looked very handsome in his jeans and button down shirt. It was green and it looked great on him. She noticed how every woman they passed looked back to admire the sight of him.

"What?" He smiled over at her as he licked the chocolate off the side of the cone.

"Nothing—or have you not noticed all of the ladies looking your way, cowboy?" She teased.

"Nope." He grinned. "Don't care."

She felt her heart flip flop as he spoke. She got the feeling that he didn't care because he wasn't seriously looking. Maybe he was satisfied with friendship. That thought, the totally platonic one, took the wind from her sails. She didn't want to be his friend but knew that there was no other way.

"Did you see Hodges face today when Greg took that sample in?" Nick asked, changing the topic, shaking his head in wonder.

"I know—I thought that he was going to throw one of his tantrums and have him thrown out." Jamey giggled, remembering how red Hodge's face was.

Around the lab the tension between the two men had become a daily battle in which any and every person who came within five feet of them was dragged into some kind of squabble. No one knew what the problem was but for whatever reason, the two had a nasty rivalry.

"Man, that guy should really take some vallium or something. He needs to take a serious chill pill."

"Nah. He should try Adavan. It works much better."

Nick nudged her shoulder and gave her a mocking grin. "And how would you know? Been a bit crazy yourself?"

Jamey blanched and looked down at the sidewalk. "It's a proven fact that Adavan is very good for tension and anxiety disorders." She said matter of factly.

Nick, seeing the change, knew that he'd stepped on her toes and gone somewhere that she did not want to go. "I'm sorry Jame—I was just kidding." He said softly, not wanting to ruin the night with talk of her past. "I don't care if you were on it–I was just trying to make a joke."

He knew that she was a closed person and he usually understood and respected her wishes—but he was starting to worry about her. She didn't tell anyone anything about her past and he knew that it wasn't healthy for her. Daring to make her angry in the sake of her own well being, he stopped walking and grabbed her hand.

She glanced at him quickly and gave him a small smile.

"Jamey–" He started., then took a deep breath and looked deep into her eyes. "I can respect that you don't talk about your personal life with anyone. But I"m not just anyone–am I?"

She started to pull her hand away but he held it tighter, an expression of concern on his face. "Am I?" He asked again.

She stopped and swallowed hard. Why was he asking her questions? Didn't he know that no one could help her? Forgive her for what she'd allowed to happen? "Nick, you're not just anyone—you're my best friend." She said in a shaky voice that seemed to have come from no where. "And as my best friend you should know better than anyone else that I can't talk about my life."

He shook his head. "It's not healthy for you. Darlin, you're eating yourself up inside. You're gonna make yourself sick. And it doesn't take a fool to see that you're heart broken. Talk to me, Jamey. I—" He stopped himself from saying that he loved her. "I want you to talk to me."

She pulled her hand away. "Well I can't talk about it—ever!" She snapped, eyes flashing. "I swear—what is with everybody today? I don't want to talk about my life in New York—do you get that?" She cried, ignoring the hurt look on his face. "Out of everyone I met in Vegas you were my favorite–and do you know why?"

He didn't respond. In a few short seconds the night that had been going so well had gone down hill and was completely ruined. He watched her face, her green eyes full of water, how her nostrils flared and how her whole body went rigid at the mention of her past. And if he thought that he could ever get through to her, he'd been wrong. He felt stupid for assuming that she would stop being secretive after a year and a half of living together. If she'd of wanted to tell him she would have done it long ago. He felt his heart breaking with every word that came from her delicate lips.

"Do you?" She pursued. "It's because you've always respected my privacy–until tonight. Was this fancy restaurant the reason? Did you think that if you took me out tonight that that would earn you the right to ask about my life?" She felt as if she was a rubber band stretched too far, so far that it had broken. He was getting to close to her, wanting to know too much. To keep him at arms length, even against her better judgement, she opened her mouth again and let loose with her poison tongue.

He opened his mouth to speak and nothing came out. The look of pure bewilderment and hurt in his eyes spoke volumes to her. She shook her head and wiped at the tears that had started to spill over her eyelids. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and sighed.

"I'm never going to talk about my life. Ever. Not with you. Not with anybody. And if you thought that you were going to take me out to dinner and then sleep with me you're wrong about that too."

He looked like she had slapped him in the face, and she might as well have. And even though it hurt like hell, he knew that she was only saying it because she was hurt. Refusing to be goaded into an argument, he swallowed the lump in his throat and pulled his keys out of his jeans pocket and dropped them on the ground at her feet. "Take the car. I'll get a cab home."

"What?"

He cleared his throat and spoke in a gravelly voice. "I need to go for a walk. I'll see you at home." He said as he turned away from her. "And I'm sorry that you think my motive for taking you out tonight wasn't pure. I'll never ask you another word about your life."

She watched him walk away then, as the tears came down harder. She reached down and picked up the keys to the Denali, hating herself for being so unkind. It was the only way she could stop him from finding out what kind of person she was; the things that she had done.

Because she knew that once she opened up to him even with one detail, she'd be like a river undammed.—out of control. And she would have to tell him that she loved him.

And she could never allow that to happen.


	5. Remorse

**Guilty Heart-Chapter Five**

Jamey slid the key into the lock and turned it over slowly, almost dreading what would happen when she walked inside. She knew how wrong she had been to snap at Nick and say the words that they both knew weren't true, but the only way she knew how to deal with her own feelings was to push him away. Judging from the hurt that had etched its way on his handsome features, she figured that she'd done just that.

She cringed remembering how wide his eyes had became, how his brow had furrowed when she'd accused him of having ulterior motives for taking her out for dinner that evening. Her stomach lurched as she recalled him walking away from her, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, shoulders slumped. Knowing that he had never come on to her in the entirety of their friendship, said a lot about how desperately she was trying to keep him at arms length.

As many times as he'd accidentally seen her in her underwear, or caught a shot of her coming out of the bathroom half dressed, his eyes always made their way to meet hers. And they had stayed there. She'd never felt uncomfortable around him nor her of her. She hadn't played fair and he had every right to blast her when he set eyes on her again.

The guilt hit her like a heat wave again as she thought about all of the times he'd been there for her in the past year and a half. He'd never done anything but be kind and generous to her and she'd betrayed him with her ugly words, spat at him, warning him that he'd gotten too close. He had been more hurt than she'd ever remembered seeing him. Even when he'd had a gun shoved in his face and he'd cried upon seeing her, he'd not looked as hurt as he had two hours before.

She almost cried upon remembering the night that he and Grissom had gone to the home of a man whom they suspected had killed his fiancée some years before, by hitting her head on the side of a huge aquarium. They had found grains of sand within the floorboards that had been painted over and Nick had gone back to process the scene when the accused wasn't home. His new fiancee had been there and not realizing until it was too late, shoved a gun in his face. She would have done him in if she could have but lucky for Nick, she had been stopped.

Jamey remembered how she'd almost lost her supper when Grissom told her what happened. He'd sent Nick home and by the terrified look on his sub-ordinates face, he had given her the rest of the night off as well. She had driven her Eclipse as fast as she could through the streets of Las Vegas feeling desperate to see her best friend, whom she realized could have been dead at the moment. The mere thought had sent her into a panic that was hard to describe; Her heart raced, her hands were clammy and she could feel the perspiration running down the back of her black blazer. Parking the car, she had exited on a dead run toward the front of the ten story building and pushed her way inside the heavy glass door. Impatiently, she jabbed at the button, cursing, for it took far too long.

Biting her bottom lip until she could taste the faint coppery substance on her tongue, she'd wiped the tears that had coursed their way down her cheeks. Her whole body shook and she fought back the hysteria that threatened to make her fall completely apart. She'd made a lot of noise at the door, not wanting to scare him when she flung it open wide and called his name as soon as the heavy door opened. It clanged loudly against the wall. She shut it quickly and snicked the lock over.

"Nick! Nick! Where are you?" She called, not failing to notice how high pitched her voice was. She threw down her purse and recklessly pulled off her blazer and tossed it aside.

Her heart stopped when he came out of his bedroom. He had obviously just taken a shower from the wet shock of dark hair and was wearing a pair of blue and white pajama bottoms and a Texas State University t-shirt. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair stood on end from where he hadn't bothered to brush it yet. She guessed he'd just finished getting dressed.

As soon as their eyes made contact, she breathed a sigh of relief and shook her head. He looked stricken and utterly defenseless. "Jame–" He started, and then bit his lip. He closed his eyes and bowed his head for a moment.

"Nick—" She breathed, and that was all she could say, as she all but ran down the hall toward him.

He let out a long breath, which she could clearly hear, and slowly sunk to his knees on the tan carpet, his left arm braced against the wall. His whole body shook with sobs. Jamey skidded to a stop and dropped to her knees and gathered him into her arms.

That night they'd slept in her bed with their arms wrapped around each other for comfort. He'd cuddled up to her like a lost little boy who needed someone to bring him back home. When she was sure he was asleep she had sat up on one elbow to look at him. He looked so handsome, his boyish face a mask of peacefulness and if she hadn't witnessed his heartbreak a few hours before she would have thought he was having the best day in the world. His long delicate lashes fluttered once in a while, signaling that he was dreaming about something. Probably the ordeal that he'd suffered through that evening.

She'd lain awake most of the night thinking about how close she had come to losing him. Loss was nothing new to her and knowing that it was once again knocking on her door, made her feel small and powerless. Every so often she had leaned down and kissed his temple or smoothed his hair off of his forehead, knowing that once he woke she'd never get to do it again.

Why was she still holding back? She wanted to be happy! She wanted a life, but the fear still clung to her like a ripe vine. Would he still want you if he knew that you killed your own son? The answer was obvious. He'd never want to see her again. She could be his friend. That was all.

And what about love? Whispered a tiny voice inside her. What about love?

Figuring he was asleep in his room, she shut the door softly and snapped the lock in place. She took off her shoes and put them in the closet and padded over the honey colored hard wood floor toward her bedroom. Noticing that his bedroom door was shut, she stopped and stared for a minute. She knew she should apologize, beg even, for the things she'd said.

Instead she turned and went across the hall into her bedroom and shut the door softly. She crossed over and turned on the lamp beside her bed and sank slowly onto the duvet covered queen and buried her face in her hands. Her heart told her to go to him, to tell him everything and to throw herself at his mercy. He was the best friend she'd ever had in a long time and she'd gone and blown it. Her mind told her that he shouldn't have asked her questions because she knew that she wouldn't talk to him anyway, that he got what he'd deserved. Inside, her emotions were going to war and she didn't know what side she wanted to be on.

She looked around her cozy bedroom. It was painted a nice tope color, something that Nick had done the first weekend she'd spent living with him. While she rested on the couch he'd taken it upon himself to spend his only free afternoon painting her room. He'd refused her offer to help, telling her that she needed her rest after such a long drive. He wouldn't let her see it until it was finished. After spending all day on the couch, she'd gotten up and had a nice long shower, relaxing as the hot water pulsated over her tired body. She'd gotten dressed in her most comfy outfit, which consisted of cut off jeans and a white tank top and her flip flops.

Really hungry, she'd knocked on the bedroom door to tell Nick that she was going out for something to eat. When he'd opened the door a crack and quickly came out into the hall, she'd been speechless—at seeing him in nothing but a pair of cutoff gym pants. The hard muscles of his chest were defined and sculpted. A fine patch of hair made it's way from under his navel and downward. His legs were wonderfully shaped and muscular as well. To top it all off he'd had a speck of paint smudged on his nose. He looked—well—adorable enough to eat.

Momentarily sidetracked by the overall sensualness of him, she swallowed hard and tried to remember what she wanted to say. He'd raised his eyebrows and flashed a grin at her.

"I know you want to see the room darlin, but you've got a couple more hours before that's gonna happen." He waited for a response and leaned toward her when he didn't get one. "You okay?" He smelled of spice and soap and paint. Strictly male, the kind of scent that made a woman want to be as close to a man as possible.

"I'm fine." She said quickly, backing up a bit. The closeness of him was making her giddy and making her have thoughts that she shouldn't have had. Thoughts of things that she had done with only one other man—and she could never let herself get close like that again. How strange it was to have felt such an attraction toward a total stranger–how odd to feel at home in a place that you hadn't even been in for twenty-four hours.

At a loss for words, she jerked her thumb behind her. "I'm going out to get something to eat. Want me to bring back something for you?"

He'd backed up a bit himself, knowing that she wasn't a woman who wanted her personal space invaded, and crossed his arms over his chest, grinning at her.

"Thanks, but I've already eaten. What are you in the mood for?" His eyes were dark, but sparkly, as if he could read her mind, see inside her. She found her heart beat accelerating as she stood in the hallway with her new roommate.

_I don't dare tell you. You'd think I'm crazy to be so attracted to a total stranger._

Jamey licked her lips. "Anything, really. All I've had in four days is takeout and junk. Is there any place healthy to go? That's close and relatively easy to find?"

He was already brushing past her and walking into his own bedroom. "Let me throw on a t-shirt. I'll take you." He said, as he came back out, pulling a dark navy t on over his head. "You'd probably get lost and Grissom would blame me."

"You may want to take the time to get that paint off of your nose." She admonished.

He'd gone into the bathroom and wiped it off, then back out and down the hall.

"I can take care of myself, Nick. You've already done enough for me." She'd protested as she watched him pick up his keys from the dish beside the door.

He stopped and turned back to look at her. "Ah, come on. It's alright. The room's drying anyway. I can give you the grand tour of Vegas." He turned and bent down into the closet and briefly glanced back at her. "So it's flip flops today, is it?"

Jamey nodded, pleased that he was so observant. He'd obviously taken a good look at the way she was dressed.

He rummaged around for a moment. "Ahh!" He said triumphantly, as he pulled a pair of navy blue Nike flip flops out and slapped them down on the floor and jammed his feet inside. "I always look for an excuse to wear these, so in the spirit of your first night in Vegas, I think we should match."

She smiled. "Are you sure? I mean, I can find a place to eat."

He motioned for her to come on. "Oh, Darlin, you need a guide to get around here." He wagged his eyebrows at her. "Sides, who would give up a chance at spending the evening with such a pretty lady?"

She threw back her head and laughed at his good mood, his generosity. Was he always this kind and considerate? He reminded her of _him_, her one and only spring time love, her other half that she had lost and even though it pricked her like a pin, she swallowed that aching side of herself and followed him out the door.

"_I'm never going to talk about my life. Ever. Not with you."_ Her words continued to run through her mind over and over again. She began to cry all over again, but this time it was harsh, angry. She cried for everything she'd lost, the mistakes she'd made, the hurt she seemed to cause to everyone she loved.

Not bothering to take off her clothes, she leaned over and shut off her lamp.

And in the room across the hall, Nick Stokes lay in his bed and listened to her cries. The anguished sounds floating under the crack in his door and strait to his heart.

It took every ounce of his energy not to throw off the covers and go into her room and give her the support that she'd so easily given him. Instead, he stuck his head under his pillow and ground his eyes shut.

He wondered if they would ever make their way back from where they were now. All of the months that he'd spent gaining her trust had been wasted and all because he'd gone and pushed her too far. He knew that she had pretty big secrets and understood that she couldn't talk about them—but he also knew that there would come a time that those secrets would rise up like a tidal wave and flow over into both of their lives.

Would she ever let him in, he wondered morbidly. More importantly, would he have the strength to deal with what ever it was?


	6. Reluctance

**Guilty Heart-Chapter Six**

Early the next morning, the alarm beside his bed blared loudly, its harsh beeping scraping on Nick's last nerve. Angrily he leaned over and poked at the little button, jabbing it viciously with his right index finger. It was only seven o'clock and he'd had about three hours of sleep.

All night he had lain awake thinking about her, about the way she had cried. The sounds haunting him, making him feel guilty for not going to her when he should have. But the more he thought about it, the angrier he became. He wasn't asking for much, dammit, and he knew that _she_ knew that. What was the point of friendship if you couldn't confide even small details of your life with your so called best friend? In the back of his mind he knew that the reason he was so angry was because she had hurt him. Anger, the secondary emotion, always seemed to move ahead of sorrow, even if it wasn't it's turn. Butting in and changing the myriad of emotions into one–cold, hard anger. It threatened to consume him.

And still, he loved her.

Loved her so much it hurt to breathe sometimes. He decided as he swung his legs over the bed and stood up to greet a new day, that he needed to talk with her and get some things strait if they were to remain friends. Selfishly, he realized, he needed more from her. He wanted to know where she grew up in New York, when she learned to ride a bike. What the delicate scar on her left elbow was from. All of those things were intimate and he wanted to know it all. Above all else he wondered why she would never talk about herself. She seemed panicked, grief stricken if someone mentioned relationships or commitment in general. Heaven forbid if they mentioned children and if she'd like to have one someday. Her green eyes would widen and the pulse in her neck would beat harder and faster until she had come up with an excuse to change the subject.

What was so wrong about having kids? He always wanted a girl and a boy and had decided long ago that if he had a son he wanted to name him Royce, his grandpa, and if it was a girl he wanted her to be named after his grandmother, Anna. As he proceeded toward the bathroom he let his mind wander even further. Truth be told, he already imagined Jamey being the mother of his children and could not, would not, accept anyone less. He just had to get her to see...and how he would do that was a mystery. Knowing that in order to have a shot with her, he'd have to tread lightly–a lot more lightly than he had last night. His anger told him to demand her to open up to him, to let him in, but his heart told him that if she was worth waiting for he'd have to be even more patient.

He was as patient as a bull at a rodeo, he thought to himself as he went into the bathroom and shut the door. He walked directly toward the tub and turned the faucet on full blast. He looked around at the rest of the room and sighed. Jamey had taken his once bland bachelor bathroom and turned it into something homey. The changes had occurred over many months, little thing, new things finding their way into the large space. He almost grinned thinking back to the day that she'd bought the new shower curtain and matching tub mat and toilet cover.

_His heart had stopped when he saw her standing back to him in a short belly shirt and a pair of too big over-halls, her dark hair in a messy ponytail. The smooth skin of her sides, visible from the lack of material, called to him as he stood watching. He smiled as she sang softly. He recognized the melody as the theme song from a popular crime scene investigation show that they frequently watched together. _

_**Who are you? Who? Who? Who are you? I really wanna know.**_

_She swayed her hips as she arranged the bathroom in true female style._

"_What are you doing?" _

_She had turned around quickly, setting the new fluffy white mat on the floor beside the tub and grinned at him. "Just making a few subtle changes. " She'd said._

_He leaned comfortably in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. He had to admit that the new editions looked good. She had bought a lacy white shower curtain that was fabric and a new soap dish and toothbrush holder. It complemented the tope color of the walls and it really was nice to see a female touch. It made his heart flutter to think that she was planning on staying for a while._

_Every morning he had woken and secretly wondered if today would be the day that she would move back to New York. Not knowing why she was really in Vegas, or even if she planned on staying permanently, always was a thought in his mind._

"_It's okay isn't it?" _

_He smiled. "Of course it is. It looks good, Jame." _

_She reached down and pulled a pink kleenex holder out of a Pottery Barn bag and set it on top of the toilet tank and then a pink framed portrate of a ballerina in her pink totes and held it up against the wall for him to see. "Like it?" _

_He wasn't sure what to say. Ballerina's? It was getting a little too girly in here, he thought. "Um...I guess. " _

_She shot him a pouty look. "You don't like it?" _

_He saw how important the redecorating was to her and couldn't help but smile. What was the big deal? It was, after all, the bathroom._

"_It's great. Really great." _

"_Really?" She asked, spinning around looking at everything. She clapped her hands together like a little girl and gave him a wide smile. "It does look great. And just wait until I put in the new potpourri machine—" _

"_Whoa–whoa." Nick put his hands in a time out gesture. "What the heck is that stuff and more importantly, is it going to take **all **male sentiment out of this room?" _

_She crossed over and chucked him in the chin and gave him a sexy smile. "Don't worry Billy Ray—you can still leave the seat up if you wish." _

By the time he got out of the shower he was sure that demanding for Jamey to speak with him would be detrimental to the way the rest of their relationship would proceed. If he really pushed her he was sure that she was going to blow up at him again, and this time she might even move out. No, he decided as he dried off and threw the damp towel in the laundry basketthe only thing he could do was apologize to her for seriously stepping over the line.

He put on a pair of clean boxers and a white t-shirt and opened the bathroom door. He felt his blood drain from his face as Jamey stood before him still fully clothed from the night before. Her eyes were bloodshot and her hair was a mess. Her clothes were wrinkled and she seemed frail and on edge. An edge that he had put there.

"Oh, sorry." She mumbled, looking down at the floor. "You done in there?"

He nodded, not sure what to say. She started past him and before she could shut the door he spoke. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." She said curtly, trying to avoid the hurt in his eyes as she went in and started to shut the door. All of a sudden she felt tired again, so damn tired, of always pushing people away. He'd done nothing but be a friend to her in the past months and continuously been there for her when she knew she didn't even deserve his kindness. Wondering if she could explain the truth to him, or at least part of it almost made her sick.

_Coward. _

_Tell him. Let him in. He's the best thing that ever happened to you since—the two most important people in your life that you callously left behind._

She had it halfway shut when she suddenly stopped and let out a long sigh. "Actually–"She said, leaning on the doorjamb. "I'm not okay and I owe you an apology for last night." She blew out the air between her lips. "For not letting you know anything about my life when you've let me into every inch of yours."

Nick was dumfounded. He turned and faced her again, his dark eyes moist. Not knowing what to say, he just looked at her and waited for her to speak again. His heart pounded triple-fold as he watched her face, which was filled with pain.

"I find it hard to talk about my personal life here––I, I've lost something that was very precious to me and talking about it is like twisting the knife that is embedded in my heart." She said.

He started to speak and she held up her hand. "Wait. Let me finish." She said softly. "I was involved in a relationship with another C.S.I. in New York. We worked together and we were—" She swallowed back her tears. "we were very close for a long time. Something happened, something awful and I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to tell you what it is. Please understand that I appreciate you so much. You are my best friend, Nick and I don't want to lose you."

He stepped toward her and pushed the door away and grabbed her into a hug. He ran his hands up and down her back soothingly. "It's okay. I'm sorry that I pushed you and you don't have to tell me what happened until you're ready." He murmured into her hair.

"But, what if I can never tell you?"

He moved back and held her by the shoulders. "Then we'll take it one step at a time. I'm not goin anywhere as long as you aren't." He said, his voice husky.

"But why are you settling for this?"

"Settling for what?"

She shrugged. "For having a roommate—why aren't you getting out there and meeting someone wonderful?"

It was his turn to shrug. He let his hands fall to his sides and he looked down at the floor for a moment.

_Tell her. Just do it._

_Coward._

"Maybe I have what I want right here." He said cautiously. "I don't want to meet anyone right now."

Her eyes locked on his. "Don't you want to have sex?"

He raised his eyebrow and grinned despite the heavy moment. "Excuse me?"

She sighed again, but she was still feeling drained. "Why aren't you finding someone to sleep with? You're a beautiful man, Nick. Why aren't you–"She gestured her hands around. "out there finding someone to spend your time with instead of me? "

He smiled at her and waved his hands in the same sweeping motion she'd just used. "And where is "there"?"

She rolled her eyes at him and swatted him in the chest. "You know what I mean. How can you be satisfied with just hanging out with your roommate on all of your time off? Don't you want to go out and have a good time? Don't you want to feel someone's body next to yours? Don't you want to be intimate with anyone? I feel like I'm holding you back."

Not really wanting to answer, he chose to look at the floor again. He had waited almost two years for her to open up to him and here he was not wanting to talk. That's irony for you, pal. Just when she finally wants to talk, you chicken out.

"I have to go get dressed." He said instead, backing down the hall towards his room. "I'll make some coffee and we can talk about it after you shower if you want." He offered, not stopping to see if she'd even take him up on it.

It seemed that two could play at that game.

"Okay." She said. She closed the door and felt the pounding of her own heart as she got undressed. Curious as to what he would say in answer to her question, she thought about how many times she had come close to breaking down and going out to find a one night stand. She knew that he hadn't done it because he spent all of his free time with her. Sometimes she wanted to be intimate again, dammit, and she was still a woman no matter what had transpired in her past.

Truth be told, she had hoped that he would have said that he wanted her. Selfishly, she realized, for she knew that she didn't deserve him. She wanted to make love to him, the pull so strong that sometimes she'd almost have to force herself to stay in her bed instead of going to him. The fear of rejection almost as strong as her fear of what would happen if they had taken that step.

Confused and nervous, she turned back to the only comfort she had in the world; The knowledge that as long as she stayed alone she could never hurt anyone again. By the time she'd had her shower and dried her hair she had decided that she was right to not tell him anything more. She did, however, want to know what the answer to his question would be.

She dressed in a pair of simple black dress pants and a pink blazer and put her hair in a high ponytail at the top of her head. She added her silver hoop earrings and her silver watch and checked her reflection in the mirror. She was stalling, she knew, but there was nothing left to do. Grabbing her purse she walked down the hall into the kitchen. She could hear the phone ring and Nick saying hello.

Next, she heard the sound of a coffee mug hitting the floor, it's contents spilling everywhere. She broke into a dead run as she heard him cry out.

"Nick?" She yelled.

"What? What the hell are you talking about?" He cursed obscenely, his eyes meeting hers as she entered the kitchen. "It can't be her!" He yelled into the phone. "Well, did Brass positively I.D. her? It could have been someone else that looked like----" He stopped talking.

He shook his head, not wanting to believe whatever he was being told. He listened some more and then shook his head. "Okay man. We'll be right there."

Jamey felt her heart jump in her throat. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, man." He breathed, his jaw clenched.

"Who was on the phone?" She demanded, terribly afraid of what she knew was awful news.

"Warrick."

"Nick, what's going on? You're scaring me!"

He swallowed hard and replaced the cordless on the cradle on the counter. He rubbed his chin with his hand in bewilderment.

"Nick! What is it?"

He looked up at her, his dark eyes in shock. "It's Catherine." He said slowly. "Actually it's Lindsay." He croaked out, tears starting to fill his eyes.

"What? What happened?" She demanded, crossing the space between them and putting her hand on his forearm. "Nick?" She hugged him to her and he grabbed on tight.

No matter what had happened the night before had been forgiven. The driving point behind the incredible friendship that they shared was mutual respect. Jamey realized that no matter what happened between them that this was not a man she ever wanted to let go of. Wanting to comfort him, as he had done to her not a half hour ago, she rubbed his back and ran one hand over his scalp. As he started to shake and sob she instinctively turned her head and kissed his neck over and over and mumbled soothing words in his ear. It was the closest most intimate thing she had ever done to him. Not giving herself the time to consider exactly what she'd done, she ignored the feeling that she was getting too close and held him as she used to hold Danny.

"Nick, what happened." She asked again. "Please tell me."

"She and a friend went to the beach last night and they didn't come home." He said, breaking the hug and looking at her as he wiped his eyes with his free hand.

A paralyzing fear rippled through Jamey's body. It felt like a flash flood, making it's way from the bottom of her toes right up to the top of her head. It was hard to breathe. She stepped back as tears filled her own eyes.

"They both drowned. Brass found the body's this morning." He said, his voice barely a whisper. But when he looked up, he saw the most horrid expression of disbelief and terror in his roommate's eyes. "Are you alright—" He started to say.

But it was too late.

_Drowned._

Jamey felt herself going down, under, under, under. Down into the darkness. Swirling colors, distorted faces, the sound of water lapping against a dock or heaven forbid, the plastic of a pool. She could smell chlorine; Taste the bitterness of salty tears.

Down, down, down. Hearing voices screaming, pleading, not knowing that the voice was her own.

Nick reached out to grab her arm but missed. He dropped to his knees beside her as she went into the darkest confines of her own mind.

Merciful, black darkness.


	7. Despair

**Guilty Heart: Chapter Seven**

If hell was on earth burning all around, its anger and bitterness in the form of red hot embers scorching everything within its reach—Dreams, hopes, wishes–it had made a permanent home in the heart of Catherine Willows. Her very life blood had gone out like the last heat of a coal; Her prayers went unanswered, her cries unheard. There was nothing that anyone could do to comfort her, no words that could express the loss, the hurt that everyone knew that she was going through. No one could understand.

No one accept Jamey Kent—and there was no way that she was ready to talk about A.J. with anyone—but one look at Catherine's tear stained face, her blood red eyes and the quiver in her lip made Jamey want to confide in her and let her know that she knew what it was like to want to end your own life, the feeling of pain that literally took your breath away; The anger that threatened to consume you until you felt like you were going to blow up.

Catherine sat in the front pew at St. Marks church totally oblivious to anything accept her own pain. She did not look at anyone in particular, nor did she acknowledge anyone who tried to speak to her or offer words of condolence. Not that anyone blamed her. Dressed appropriately in a black ankle length dress and her hair worn pulled back from her face the petit red-head faced her darkest day–not without the help from two valium and a chaser of vodka, courtesy of her father, Sam Braun.

Even Warrick couldn't disagree when the elder gentleman with piercing blue eyes had come to the house that morning armed with liquor and pills and offered her some. She'd accepted without word, her angry gaze all but burning a hole in the secret father that she hated and loved. She always felt it when she saw him, but under the circumstances, her anger and grief intensified towards this man whom she had never known to be her father up until she had taken it upon herself to do a DNA test. But he'd known, and for_ that_ she would never forgive him.

Her blue eyes, so much like his own scornfully raked over him, as they always did when he was near and even if she'd never admit it to herself or to anyone else for that matter, his presence always comforted her. She knew that he'd tried to make up for the past and would continue to do so, but he made her so angry, so damn angry and she just couldn't seem to forgive and forget. Sam knew her well enough to give her what he came for and make a graceful exit. He'd be at the funeral. He'd left with a soft', "If you need anything just name it, Mugs."

She'd lept up off of the couch then and quickly downed the two pills and after taking a huge gulp of vodka, she pointed her finger accusingly at him, her voice broken and her throat scratchy. "Need anything? If I need anything?" She spat, taking a few steps closer. He stood and watched, pity flooding his face, for her loved her so very much even if he had a funny way of showing it. "The only thing I need is my daughter! She's the only thing I need!" Her voice rose and reached a high pitched howl as she advanced toward him, dropping the glass tumbler on the carpeted livingroom floor, which Warrick reached down for. "Did you ever need your daughter? No—You didn't —" She answered the question for herself. "You didn't even love me enough to tell me that I was your daughter."

"Catherine—" He began, with a controlled amount of patience. A control which knew limits, a control which could be lost at a moment's notice. No, Sam Braun had not risen to the top of the Casino business in Las Vegas by being 'nice'. But she was his only daughter and she was broken. Still, he wouldn't sit around and listen to her scream at him. " I know you're upset but—"

She threw back her head and laughed, a wild, crazy sound that started in the base of her throat. "You know? What do you know? You don't even know how to be a father" She spat. "Where were you when I was growing up? Pretending to be my 'uncle', my mother's friend?"

She was almost to him know and Warrick could see the anger brimming beneath the surface of those eyes and the hurt. Not wanting the scene to turn any uglier than it already was, Warrick swiftly intercepted Catherine and grabbed her by the arm.

"That's enough." He said. He spoke quietly, but with a strength that she knew he was serious. Mercifully, she was so taken aback that she was quiet for a moment. He looked up at Sam and nodded. "Thanks for coming Mr. Braun, but I don't think she's really up for seein' anyone right now." Sam nodded and turned to make an exit, but not without one last word, which Catherine chose to ignore.

"I love you, Mugs. I always have." And with that he turned and left.

Regaining her anger and fire Catherine twisted and struggled in his grasp as he gently led her back into the kitchen. "Let me go! I'm a grown woman!" She yelled, reaching out to slap at him, kick at him. "Warrick! I said LET ME GO!"

He ignored her hands which delivered hard slaps to his face when they could find it, ignored her crying and even the curses that were directed at him personally. It had only been a good fifteen seconds and he could feel his own temper start to burn. Only when they were in the kitchen did he release her. She stepped back and away from him, tears streaking down her face. She sniffled and wiped her hand under her nose in a most unladylike fashion. What did she care? She didn't give a damn anymore.

That first night, that awful gut wrenching night Lindsay was buried, she and Nick had come home after the committal at the cemetery exhausted and totally wrung out. Neither one of them had expected to see the state that Catherine was in both felt guilty for not being able to offer her any comfort. Not that she would have accepted it—the only person she would speak with was Warrick, who had never left her side since they found Lindsay's lifeless body at the beach–but both felt a need and a want to take away the pain, as did the rest of the team.

Jamey noticed that Gil Grissom, especially, seemed to take the loss of Lindsay almost as if she had been his own daughter. How sad and frightening it was to see a normally emotionally void person breakdown and cry at a grave. Her boss wasn't the sort of person that showed anyone what he felt—unless it was job related and, of course, displeasure at something someone did. His mildly corrective and sometimes condescending tone almost gave the appearance that he didn't really care either way about anything—well, not that he didn't care—just that nothing could pierce through the armor that he'd worn for years and years. The death of Lindsay Willows was having a deep effect on the entire team.

Both Nick and Jamey walked as if in a trance, lost in their own thoughts, both terribly bereft, as they took shelter in their apartment. Nick tossed the keys to the Eclipse in the side table dish; Jamey went for the fridge and took out two cold beer and then grabbed a bottle of vodka as an afterthought.

Nick watched her and swallowed hard, his whole body vibrating with need to be close to her. He'd known Lindsay since she was a baby and he had always had a special place in his heart for her. It was no secret that he loved kids, that a case involving a child was especially harder on him than it was anyone else. Her death was senseless and tragic and even though he tried, he couldn't shake the feeling of intense sorrow he felt for Catherine.

Without turning around she held up the bottle. "One shot or two." She asked softly, but her voice had a high pitch to it, like she was barely hanging on.

"Two." He said, his voice gritty ,without hesitation, wondering just exactly how much more there was to her story. When she'd fainted he'd been sure that it was just the shock, but she really hadn't gotten to know Lindsay at all and had only met her once or twice. So, why the blackout reaction? He knew instinctively that she had lost someone close to her, and he'd long ago guessed it was by drowning. Maybe the boyfriend back in New York.

They had never got to finish their conversation about why he wasn't looking for anyone, and he didn't bring it up. He didn't want to tell her yet, knew that if he did, that he'd lose her. At that moment, he just wanted to hold her close to him, to feel her heart beating against his chest. He wanted to feel her arms around his neck. Bravely, he stepped up behind her, hoping she wouldn't turn him away.

She stood back to him, her long hair which had been swept up for the funeral now hung loose in huge ringlets down her back as she poured each of them a smart helping of vodka that was sure to, if not help the situation, at least would give them a good start to a night's sleep. Thoughts of Danny and A.J swirled around in her brain and for the first time in a long time, she wondered if she should call Danny and see how he was. The thought left her feeling a need to just have someone tell her that she was going to be okay—that her life was still worth living–that she wasn't a bad person for letting her son die and it left her feeling so lonely, so damn lonely that she thought her heart might actually break.

She started to turn when she felt his arms snake around her waist and rest gently around her stomach. She instinctively leaned her head back into his chest and she felt his arms tighten as he bowed his head into her hair.

"How're you doin, darlin?" He asked softly.

She didn't answer, just let her hands grip his forearm tightly. He could feel the tremble coursing through her body and for the first time, realized how deeply effected she was by the whole funeral process. He felt stupid for not talking with her about it sooner, or for not catching on. He knew she'd buried someone important and she was reliving it through Lindsay.

She leaned forward and grabbed the tumbler and brought it to her lips and gulped it down, then reached and grabbed his and passed it back to him. That's when he heard a small cry escape her. She didn't want to look at him, didn't want him to see her cry. She tried to remove his one hand from her waist but he held it firmly.

He set the glass back on the counter and turned her around to face him.

"Noooo." She protested weakly, covering her face with her hands. "Don't look at me."

"Jamey." He said her name softly, but firm. "Darlin, look at me. It's okay to cry." He said, his own voice cracking.

When she heard his voice and the pain that came with it, she brought her own hands down and looked at him. His dark eyes shone with unshed tears, his eyes were filled with something, desire or love, but either way she could tell how much he cared for her with that one look. She reached up then, finally deciding that maybe it didn't matter if he saw her cry, and wrapped her arms around his neck and held him.

"Let's go to bed." She said. "I don't want to be alone tonight."

That moment, that evening, something was cemented between them. And for once, they both gave into the moment and didn't think about what it meant. As Nick led her back to his bedroom he had no idea what was going to happen between them, but he knew that he didn't care if it was something or nothing. He wanted to hold her.

And that was enough.


	8. Surprise

Author's Note: Sorry about the last chapter where the part between Catherine and Warrick runs into Nick and Jamey. I did separate them and put a big line in there but it didn't take.

**Guilty Heart- Chapter Eight**

Sara Sidle woke up feeling depressed. Some days it was bad; the feeling that her personal life was basically non-existent, and other days it was _really_ bad; Knowing that she'd made a total fool of herself with Grissom_ and_ the overwhelming feeling that she was never going to find a man to love her, especially when all of her male friends didn't look at her the way they looked at the other two leading ladies of the lab.

In her secret put-away heart she was jealous of everyone else who had found it, even those who didn't realize they had it, but struggled to maintain her cool exterior when around everyone else. It turned her stomach to see the way that Nick and Warrick, both, turned into complete little boys when Jamey and Catherine were around, like they didn't have a brain in their heads. Although she knew that she wasn't being fair—but who wanted to be fair?—she couldn't help but wish that she could find a man of her own.

Sure, there had been Hank—Mr.Cheater—and that had been going really well, she'd thought—all until she found out that she didn't even have a real boyfriend–he was cheating on his long time girlfriend with her----she was a mistress! Outraged was how she felt—sad, depressed and not worthy. There had been whatever-it-was with Grissom and that had ended badly.

"_I don't know what to do about this, Sara." _ He'd said when she'd asked him out for dinner. His mild voice laced with an edge of irritation, like he was really that surprised that she'd ask.

Humiliated, she'd left and went home. She vowed to not spend another minute mooning over him.

She willed the thoughts out of her mind as she pushed back the pink duvet coverlet and scooted out of bed. Her head ached and her stomach felt sick—probably a combination of not enough food and lots of alcohol that she'd consumed after coming home from Lindsay's funeral.

That was a matter all unto itself; Surreal was a word that came to mind. She'd never seen so much pain and suffering, so many tears and it scared her. Truth be told she and Catherine had never gotten along and probably never would. The personality conflict had begun the moment she'd transferred in from the San Fran department. Sara didn't like the elder woman's methods, didn't like her temper or the way she always seemed to wrap Grissom around her little finger and to Sara's way of thinking, Catherine didn't like the fact that she was smart and very good at what she did. It was an endless competition that Sara could never win.

But no matter what had happened Sara could not be petty toward a woman who had just lost her daughter. The sorrow that Sara felt for Catherine was pure, the words of sympathy that she had tried to say were totally from the heart, but Catherine wasn't listening to anyone but Warrick, whom Sara knew, was the only one to keep her from totally falling apart.

She went into her small bathroom and turned on the tub. She showered for exactly twelve minutes and emerged wrapped in a fluffy pink bath towel. No one at the lab knew about her passion for all things pink, for it wasn't evident in the way she dressed and no one had been to her apartment to see her tasteful decorating–which was something that bothered her...but then again she'd never taken that step to ask anyone. She was out of touch with everyone, everything and most of all herself.

When she emerged from her bedroom after exactly twenty-five minutes, she was dressed in a pair of black jeans with a white t-shirt. Her hair had been blown dry and she wore a minimal amount of makeup. She studied her reflection in the moon shaped mirror in the hall and wondered why she looked the way she did.

Why didn't she have long flowing hair like the other woman she worked with? Why did she feel so very plain jane when everyone else looked like they should be on the cover of vogue magazine?

Annoyed with herself, yet again, she went into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. As she waited for the kettle to boil she sat down at her kitchen table and flipped through the latest Victoria's Secret catalogue and snorted softly to herself. For the life of her she couldn't understand why she'd signed up for their mailing list. All the woman were scantilly clad, super sexy women—women that she would never look like if her life depended on it.

Her self-loathing spree was interrupted by the ringing of her cell phone. She picked it up off the table beside her and answered. "Sidle."

"Sara?"

Sara frowned. "Greg?" Greg never called her. Never. She tucked her legs underneath her and vaguely wondered if he had bad news. She felt her stomach tighten in anticipation. "Is something wrong?"

There was a hesitation in his voice, like he was nervous. "Hi, I was just calling to see how you were doing?"

She almost blanched. Doing? "What do you mean?" She asked.

"I was just wondering how you were—" He said and then cleared his throat. "I mean, the funeral and all and everyone is really upset over it—I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

She let a small smile creep to her lips, touched. "I'm fine, Greg. This has been hard on all of us, but why me? Why not call Cath? I'm sure that she'd appreciate it."

_Of course, everything always came back to Catherine----okay, not at all fair–but she couldn't help herself._

"She's got Warrick and she's not taking calls from anyone. But anyway, I was wondering if you'd like to meet me for breakfast this morning."

"Uh...breakfast?"

"I know it's crazy" Greg intoned lightly, "But I"ve heard that it is a common practice here in the United States."

Sara grinned, despite her headache. "Shut up, Sanders."

"Ah, there's my girl–" He joked. "All sassy in the morning." He paused. "So, Sidle, will you meet me at IHOP in an hour?"

"Sure. Why not?"

Why not? It's not like she had anything better to do with her time.


	9. Regret

**Guilty Heart- Chapter Nine**

It had been a long day–no—a _hell_ of a long day— and all he wanted to do was go home and drink a few cold beer. The temperature hadn't dwindled and it was still hot enough to fry bacon on the sidewalks. He looked down at the street below and felt a stab of pain in his heart as he watched small children run through a fire hydrant spray, splashing and screaming. A.J. would have been six, and old enough to partake in a fun evenings run with the other kids. He leaned over the balcony, arms braced on the black wrought iron railing, a can of beer in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other and watched the New York skyline, heard the rustle of the busy streets and the horns honking. It was the only pleasure he had left in life, now that both A.J. and Jamey were gone.

_Ya, and exactly whose fault was that?_

After a few minutes of yearning for them, his head hurt. Those memories were engraved in his brain, his skin and they never faded, even after three years. He ground the cigarette under the heal of his sneaker and headed inside.

After closing the window that lead out to the small fire escape he walked over to the sink and ran some hot water into the pot and put it on the stove to boil. Then he reached above his head and grabbed a bag of pasta. As dinners went this was about as fancy as it got.

_Always dinner for one. A.J. loved pasta—_

The old beige rotary phone that still hung on the kitchen wall began to ring and even before he picked it up her knew exactly who it was. Still, he picked it up and answered in his characteristically gruff New York accent and encountered an equally thick female one.

"Messer."

"Danny?" The voice of his would-have-been sister-in-law came across the line—if Jamey had married him—if A.J. had lived.

It wasn't that he didn't like Tracey Kent—far from it—he loved her. Jamey's elder sister by two years had much the same personality as Jamey had. They were both like a warm sunny day, both beautiful and full of life—or had been. They looked so much alike they could have been twins, but Tracey's eyes were a deep blue and Jamey's were green. Tracey always reminded him of Courtney Cox, with her dark hair and exquisitely blue eyes.

The last three years had been hell on Tracey as much as it had been on him–maybe more—considering that when she had left Danny she'd left everyone else as well, including her own family. As far as he knew Jamey had never once called home. Maybe that's why he still talked to Tracey—she was the only last living connection he had to Jamey and A.J.

"Ya?" He answered flatly, knowing exactly what she was calling for.

"It's Tracy."

He rolled his eyes. "I know that."

"How are you?"

_Wounded, hurt, lonely, angry—and that was just for starters._

He suppressed the urge to snort in her ear. "How do you think I am?" He asked blandly. How was he ever?

"I don't know—that's why I'm calling."

"I'm peachy." He emptied about half the bag of pasta in the pot and gave it a quick stir.

"I heard you guys caught the Riverbed Killer over in Brooklyn." She attempted to make conversation. "Mac mustof been happy."

"Yep. All in a day's work." He said shortly. "Do you need somethin, Trace? Cause I'm kinda busy."

There was a pause and then she cleared her throat. "Danny, are you angry that I'm calling you?"

"No."

_Yes–dammit—why can't you ever leave me the hell alone? She hasn't since forever–why the hell would she call now?_

"Any word? Anything at all?"

Danny sighed and rubbed his hand over the three day stubble on his chin. He'd been having these conversations for too long and it was starting to get to him. She had been calling almost weekly since Jamey had left, wanting to know if he'd heard from her, if he knew how she was—any piece of information—it had been a damn year and a half! He was friggin tired of this—mostly cause it still hurt like hell

"Nah, Trace. No nothin." He busied himself with stirring the pot of spagetti that was boiling on the stove. "Dontcha think that this is gettin pointless?" He asked tersely.

"Do _you_ think this is pointless?" She asked just as tersely. "I mean, she's gone–yes–but sooner or later one of us has to hear from her. I just can't believe that she _still_ hasn't called."

He cleared his throat. "Trace, she's livin a new life now. One that doesn't include anyone from her past."

He thought he heard her whimper. "I know—it's just that I can't get over it—how do you walk away from your family? It's like she's dead. She _could _be dead—" She continued on. "If she was how would we even know? I just—"

Danny blanched. He hated the word, hated everything about it, probably because he had lost the two most important people in his life because of it.

_Because of you, Messer. It was your fault._

"Tracey—I can't talk about this anymore with you." He interrupted, while he grabbed the pot from the stove and dumped the contents into a strainer. "She's gone. She's not comin back and neither is A.J. Do you get that? And talkin about it every damn day isn't gonna help either of us." It came out a little harsher than he intended but he was just so tired. So damn tired of thinking about her, about what driven them apart.

"He would have been six today, you know." She said softly, changing topics.

"I _know_ that." As much as he tried to make the words come out strong, he failed, his voice faltered. "You're not tellin me anythin I don't already know." He gripped the phone so tight his knuckles turned white.

"I bought him a present." She confessed. "A baseball bat." She continued when he didn't acknowledge she'd spoken.

For some reason it angered him. Made him madder than hell that she'd do something for a boy who wasn't even around to play with such a thing. He knew that it would have been his son's birthday—had thought about it all damn day—and the last thing he wanted to do was _talk_ about it.

"That was stupid." He yelled. "Is he gonna play with it from six feet under?"

As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he ground his teeth. He was hurting her and he knew it. He also knew that she missed A.J. as much as he did—it's was just that it hurt so damn much he could hardly breathe.

"Asshole."

"I'm sorry." He breathed, feeling his chest tighten and his throat constrict. He felt the burn of tears behind his eyelids. "Trace—"

But he was talking to a dead line.

"Fuck!" He slammed down the phone in anger and picked up the pot of pasta and threw it against the wall where it slid down and splattered on the floor.

He sank slowly to his knees and buried his face in his hands.

And for the first time in over a year, cried.


	10. ShellShocked

Guilty Heart- Chapter 10

"Catherine I need you to eat something."

It wasn't a request; It was a demand. Plain and simple. A very impatient Warrick Brown ran a weary hand over his face and rubbed his eyes. It had been four days and his over-wrought strawberry blond still hadn't eaten a damn thing. He was tired, heart-broken and needed a lot of sleep. Tending to Catherine had not proved to be an easy task and as the hours went by she became meaner and nastier.

"I'm not hungry." She snapped at him, and not for the first time.

He sighed. "Catherine, you're going to get sick." He gestured behind him with a thumb. "Sara brought over some of that soup you like."

"Good for her." She snapped. "She can't cook worth a damn. I'm not eating _that_ crap."

He bit down on his lower lip, patience slowly melting away. "Fine. Don't eat–but it's not good for----."

"Don't say it" She snapped. "I'm Not hungry." She mumbled. "Nothing matters anymore. I don't care."

"It's not going to do you any good to talk about our friends that way." He chided, narrowing his wonderfully green eyes at her. "They love you and they loved Linds–they're only trying to help."

She'd whipped her head around then, her blue eyes brimming with more tears. "Help me?" She yelled, throwing her slender hand in the air. "How is anyone going to help me? Can any of you bring back my baby? Can anyone take this pain away from me?"

He shook his head. "No baby, they can't. But driving away everyone that loves you isn't going to make it better."

"I don't want anyone around me. No one understands what this feels like!" She shrilled, very close to losing control again. He remembered quite well what she was like when she lost control.

Sub-consciously he reached up and tentatively touched the purple bruise that covered his left cheek and lightly ran his fingers over the soreness, remembering the conversation that they'd had the day before, the words still scorching him like a flame.

_He'd been trying to restrain her from going to the graveyard to spend the night sleeping beside Lindsay's freshly dug grave. It wasn't like him to ignore someone's wishes, especially Catherine's, but it was just too much for her to do it and he instinctively knew that it wouldn't help her, would only hinder._

_It had been well after ten at night and he'd settled on the couch for some much needed sleep when he'd heard the closet door open in the front hall. He stood up and made his way to her, where he'd found her putting on a pair of sneakers. She was still wearing her black pajamas but had thrown an old white knit sweater over the top._

"_What are you doing?" He'd asked softly._

_She didn't even glance up at him as she jammed her tiny feet inside. "Going Out." _

_He crossed his arms over his bare chest and grimaced. "Going where? It's ten o'clock, Cath. Where are you going at this time of night." _

_She pursed her lips together in annoyance. "If you must know, I'm going to the cemetary." _

_His stomach knotted. "Oh, baby—you aren't serious." He moved toward her but she moved back and crossed her arms over her chest._

"_Don't 'oh baby', me." She'd snapped. "I want to be there with her. I need to be there." _

_He felt the sting of tears behind his eyelids. "No, Catherine. You can't go there now—." He struggled to find the words. "She's gone. You have to let her go." _

_She'd really lost it then. "Let her go? How can I let her go?" She screamed at him, lunging and swinging wildly. Her tiny fists uncontrolled throwing punches against his chest, his face and then connected hard with his cheek._

_He had to grab her wrists and pin them down at her sides, although he hated to do it, hated to put his hands on her when they were both angry and had had enough._

"_Stop it!" He'd yelled at her. There was only so much he could take before he would reach his breaking point. She had continued to struggle with him as he pinned her and held hard._

"_Let me go! I hate you! Do you hear me?" She yelled furiously. "Go away and don't come back, Warrick! I hate you. You did this to me! It's your fault that I can't go with her!" _

_He didn't understand, couldn't make sense of what she was saying. He could only feel a kind of hurt that he'd never felt before. A tear trickled down his cheek as he tried to ignore her. "No you don't. You don't hate me. You're just hurt and angry." _

_She barred her teeth at him, really worked up. "You're wrong----I do hate you—and I wish that it was me lying in that grave! I wish I was dead and if it wasn't for this damn baby I would have killed myself four days ago!" She'd screamed in his face._

_He was dumbstruck. Baby? What baby? Whose baby?_

_He'd released her then, dropped her arms to her sides, a horrific expression on his face. His heart racing in his chest, thumping madly._

"_What baby?" He didn't realize he'd spoken, only heard his own voice but it didn't sound like his own._

_She stared hard at him, tears now cascading down her cheeks. Oh, she was angry and he'd underestimated how vicious she could be when she was backed into a corner. The past hours and days, the lack of sleep, the steady stream of sorrow had put both of them on the edge and they both exploded together, the friction between them angry and vile, hurt and a bottomless pit of grief._

"_Your baby, Warrick." She yelled, all control gone. She pointed at him. "You got me pregnant and now I can't go anywhere!" _

_It was his turn to be angry. He felt it consume him, an all over fire that started at his toes and quickly burned up and up until he could feel it rush to the top of his head. He was breathing hard and fast as he tried to articulate his next words. In his minds eye he pieced together the reason why she'd been so angry with him, so damn angry. The scene at the lab, the unreturned phone calls, the snide remarks, all hit him like a ton of bricks._

"_You didn't tell me!" He yelled back. "No!—" He corrected himself. "Were you ever going to tell me that you're having my baby?" He didn't even give her time to answer before he began again. "How could you? How could you not tell me?" _

_She didn't answer, only glared at him. "I didn't know what I was going to do about it." _

_His eyes widened. "Do? This isn't all your decision you know!" _

_She narrowed her eyes at him. "Like hell. **Like hell **it isn't. This is my body and if I decide to keep this child it will be my decision, not yours." _

_He lowered his voice, cold and hard. "That's where you're wrong." He growled, feeling protective over this child who was barely in existence. His child._

_Their child. He swallowed his anger and hurt and tried to reason with the unreasonable. _

"_This is my child as much as it is yours, Catherine. I want it. I want to know it—" He continued, not unaware that he was making an impression on her. "I love you more than life itself —" He reached out for her and tentatively touched her abdomen and she didn't pull away. " And if you're pregnant than it makes me the luckiest man in the world. I want this baby. I want you." Even though he was still angry, angry as hell, he knew that he'd have to change the approach if he was to get through to her. She was too much on the edge and he was afraid that he was going to lose her._

_She'd broken then and bowed her head, completely switching gears again from anger to sorrow. "I don't know if I can have this baby. I can't go through it again. If something happens, I just don't know if I can do this." _

_He grabbed her in a hug and held her tight. "We'll do it together." _

_She hadn't commented. Silently he prayed that God would give him the strength to see her through it and that she would wake up wanting the new life that was inside her._

He surveyed her from his position in the doorway of the den. She looked tiny amidst the blue and white throw pillows that spilled off of the marshmallow couch. She wore the same black silk pajama bottoms and green tank top that she'd had on since the funeral. Her hair resembled a rat's nest and her eyes were puffy. She sat cross-legged and as far as he could tell, was doing nothing but staring at the wall.

What was he supposed to do now?


	11. Need

"Good morning, beautiful."

Jamey opened her eyes and looked around and immediately felt uncomfortable—with herself for what she had done—taking him to bed when she knew full well that she'd never be able to give him what he asked for–her life—her time–her heart. Blinking, she remembered the events of the night before that had led her to be in his bed. She fought back the panic that threatened to consume her and swallowed hard as memories of Nick swam around her brain. Nick—making love to her. Nick's hands, his body, his mouth—devouring her—her every need and want.

"Morning." She croaked softly.

"It's gonna be a hot one." He mumbled absently but took no notice when she didn't comment. Neither one of them were partial to much talking in the morning.

The sunlight was streaming in through the blinds casting pleasant light upon Nick's blue bedspread. She rolled over until she faced him, not knowing what she was going to say. Her heart soared at the sight of him lying beside her on his stomach with his hands cradling his head, and then plunged as she realized the depth of what they had done. She tried to rationalize it in her mind, tried to justify what she had done–which was take him to bed when she knew that she would never be able to commit to him–by telling herself that she'd been missing A.J. so—that missing his sixth birthday was just as horrible as his fifth and fourth.

Her baby, her beautiful son. How she missed him, how very long the hours and days and months since she had held him in her arms. She missed the smell of him after he had come from the baseball field with his father—all dirt and grime and boy. That special smell that let her know he'd been having a hell of a time with Danny–where ever they'd been. She missed the sound of his tiny voice, whether it was talking, yelling or crying—and singing—she would have given anything to hear that sweet childish out-of-tune voice that was music to her ears.

She desperately wished she could finally tell Nick about him, about Danny. Lying there in the morning light she thought back to a time when she and Danny lived together and were happy. _Happy._

Such a fragile word—such an illusion.

In New York the pace was fast just as it was in Las Vegas; People constantly on the move, always coming and going, never watching where they were going or caring who they plowed into. Jamey and Danny's favorite day of the week was Sunday because they always slept late and woke up just in time to make love before Tracy would bring A.J. home. The eldest Kent would bring home her favorite—and only—nephew about lunch time, as she always kept him on Saturday nights so her baby sister and soon to be brother-in-law could have a little time alone.

Jamey closed her eyes again and remembered Danny's sorrow-sticken face the last time she'd seen him and immediately felt guilty again. Up until their son had died they had been the perfect couple, never fighting over anything, really. They loved each other deeply and completely. They made love at least four times a week and they loved to spend time together whether it was at the lab or at home in the kitchen making pasta for three. She decided that she would call him—soon—to see how he was. It was the right thing to do—even if she had left him behind.

The weight of what had happened seemed to be closing in on her lately, much like being stuck in a box with no hope of escape. At first she could almost block it from her mind—but it always came back seeping into the deepest parts of her brain. Then, as the first two years passed, she felt it come back a little stronger instead of the hurt diminishing and she found at times the memories made it hard for her to breathe. But now, after making love with Nick, after seeing the way he'd looked at her she knew his gentleness knew no bounds—and still she was afraid.

Afraid that if she told him he would get that look on his face—the one that a lot of people had made at her behind her back (so her sister had told her) and some to her face—the look that had made her feel like a monster—not that she cared to argue with that fact. The trouble was that if she told him and reacted the way she suspected–that she'd never be able to look him in the eye again. Selfishly, she realized, her secret was the only way to keep Nick in her life.

Her lip trembled as she watched him. She took in his skin, his smell—so powerful and male, verile and sexy. Nick, in whole, was like a drug to her—one that she knew she was now addicted to, and yet, she didn't want to be. She knew that once he knew the details of A.J.'s death, he'd never want to speak to her again and that thought alone made her both want to cry and throw up at the same time.

She fought back the urge to cry and reached out to run her palm down the length of his naked back, loving the feel of his skin beneath her. He groaned at her touch, which made her heart beat wildly. Bravely, she applied a little more pressure and ran her hand back up his back and gently rubbed his shoulder blades. She wanted him again, there was no question about it, she needed him again–even if it was selfish.

"You keep doin that, darlin, I won't be responsible for what I may do to you." He drawled, as lazily stretched out, much like a well satisfied cat.

She didn't answer, just kicked her legs free of the sheet that covered her nudity and rolled over until she straddled him, her legs tightening around his waist. She began to massage his shoulders deeply, lovingly, trying to put her need for him in something physical instead of in words. She'd never be able to tell him how she felt—never explain her life that had been lost and she hoped that he wouldn't try and make her. He groaned again appreciatively as she kneaded the muscles in his neck.

"Okay, _now_ you are driving me crazy." He mumbled as she moved her hand downward and began to kneed the muscles in his lower back. Her heart pounded in her chest as she loved him with her hands. All at the same time her head hurt as she tried to block out the pictures of Danny and A.J. that wouldn't leave her mind.

She leaned forward and let her long hair brush over his back as she began to kiss his spine lightly. She felt him shudder and then groan. His hands came out from underneath his head and fisted.

"Jaaaaamey–do you realize what you're doin here?" He began to writhe and wiggle.

She didn't respond, only kissed her way down his back and then crossed over and nibbled at his side. He was a wonderful sight to behold, a wonderful lover and an excellent friend. She put all of the passion she had inside into her kisses—for she couldn't find the words.

And it worked.

"Okay—_that's_ it!" He growled huskily, flipping over and, very easily, keeping her on top of himself. His lust-filled eyes locked on hers, as he grinned. "You wanna go another round with me, darlin'?"

She didn't give him time to answer before her lips were on his.

To hell with it—she'd figure out the rest of it later.

She was starting to feel like a woman again.

It was about damn time.


	12. Pleasentries

AN: Is anyone reading this story? Does no one enjoy this? I'm having a great time writing about it but am wondering if it's just not capturing the minds of the readers? If you do like it, please let me know–it's really all that matters to me.

**Guilty Heart-Chapter Twelve**

Sara glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror of her Denali as she pulled into the parking lot of IHOP for the second morning in a row, and frowned. Feeling a bit nervous, she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and groaned.

Annoyed with herself for feeling this way—because there was no reason to feel this way about a certain co-worker— which was Greg for pity sakes---she tried to brush it off as—well, nothing. She exited the vehicle and walked toward the entrance. The morning was hot already and the temperature was supposed to make a steady climb for the rest of the week. Hating it because it made her hair frizzy and unmanageable, she'd tried to extra-condition her hair in preparation but it had done no good. She was stuck with hair that could not, would not ever be described as silken nor sleek and shiny.

And why did she care? Because she was Sara Sidle: Queen of unmanageable hair.

She glanced down at her plain pair of jeans and the black t-shirt that she'd carefully selected from her out-of-date wardrobe about an hour before, wishing that she had Jamey Kent or Catherine Willow's sense of style. How those two came in looking like they did was beyond her—all silken hair and blazer clad—what they looked like was a couple of beauty queens who should have been off to vi for world peace. And who could wear high-heel boots to a crime scene or those ridiculous pumps that she'd seen both women wear time and time again?

Sometimes she wished that she could cut sneak into their bedrooms and cut off all of that luxurious hair in the middle of the night—then let them see how good it felt to be attractive with nothing left but a short mop.

And still, she knew that she shouldn't be thinking that way, shouldn't be so childish but sometimes she wanted to be beautiful too.

Not wanting to think about it any further, she pushed the heavy glass door and stepped into the cool air conditioned restaurant. She scanned over the sea of happily eating patrons in search of Greg.

Why he wanted to meet her again was beyond her. It made her feel funny, almost as if he was going to play some kind of practical joke on her. He'd seemed nervous about meeting her, almost as if he thought it was a date or something. He'd even pulled out her chair in a gentlemanly fashion and commented on how nice she'd looked.

Nice. That's exactly how he described it. Not beautiful, not hot, just 'nice'.

Soon enough she spotted him in a booth by the back sipping coffee and reading the morning paper. He looked—she hated to admit— handsome in his plain black t-shirt. Were his shoulders always that wide? His chest so filled out and, well, muscled? With the exception of the spiky hair, he looked very grown up indeed. Since he'd been out in the field he'd matured, calmed down from the punky loud mouth kid he'd come to them as. He still had the devil in him, still had a great sense of humor but too much blood and gore had settled him some.

She studied him for a moment as the waitress came by to re-fill his mug. He was cordial and friendly and almost flirty with the brown haired waif, she noted. The tiny waitress was obviously struck on something he'd said and pressed her hand against her bosom and laughed loudly.

"Well ain't you jus'somethin'." She crooned, as she refilled the cup. "I betcha got the girls jus'a fightin' ova ya night an day."

"I try." He returned. "Thank you, Judy." He said, giving her a wide grin. "And may I say that _that_ particular shade of orange looks lovely on you today."

"Are ya taken, honey?" She asked. "Cause ya kin come home wit' me iffin ya need ta."

Sara rolled her eyes as she approached the table. The woman seriously needed to get the hick-town accent toned down a little.

He smiled graciously and waged his finger at the fast approaching fifty woman. "I'm sorry, Judy, but my heart is taken. She's a lovely woman but if I was single I'd snap you up right away."

She playfully slapped him on the shoulder and laughed again before she walked to the next table.

Taken? Since when was he taken, she wondered with a small—surprising—surge of jealousy. He must have asked her here again so he could get some kind of girl advice from her. With a sinking feeling she walked up to the table and gave him the best smile she could muster.

"Hey Greggo." She said as she slid into the booth and set her purse on the table.

"Sar—I'm so glad that you could make it." He sounded genuinely pleased. He flashed her a huge grin and handed her a menu. "I hate eating breakfast alone. It's so good to have such great company."

"I heard that." Judy called from about three tables away.

He threw back his head and put a hand over his heart. "Ah, Judy, you know that I wasn't talking about you. Don't hurt me like that." He called.

She turned around and gave him an inviting grin. "Honey, ya know ah' love ya. I was 'gest kiddin around."

Sara rolled her eyes again. "Do you need me to leave you alone or something?" And despite herself, she grinned back at him. She had no idea he was so charming.

He reached over and covered her hand with his own and gave her a winning smile. "Sar, you know I love you the most."

Amused, and a bit curious by his forwardness–even if it was a joke–she squinted her eyes and shook her head a bit. "What has gotten into you?"

He feigned hurt. "Nothing—can't a guy just tell a pretty girl that he likes her the best?"

Knowing that he wasn't serious, she rolled her eyes and sighed. "You can do anything you want Greg." She said as she dropped her eyes to the menu.

He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Anything?"

She didn't answer.

"Ms. Sidle are you flirting with me?" He asked. "You are flirting with me, aren't you?"

She rolled her eyes again, not being used to the compliments. "So why did you invite me here? Just to tell me that I'm the best?"

"Do I need another reason?"

"Get serious."

"I am serious." He countered.

"Okay then." She mumbled, suddenly wanting to go home and eat breakfast in the privacy of her own home—where she wouldn't have to feel stupid. "Whatever."

He gave her an eye roll of his own. "Come on, Sar. I was giving you a compliment."

"Uh–thanks?"

Refusing to be defeated, he picked up his own menu and flipped through it. "Looks like I'll be having the eggs benedict and the hash browns." He decided.

"Um, I think I'll get the vegetarian omlet." She set her menu down and studied him for a moment, wondering exactly who it was that he had been talking about with Judy, the waitress from hickville. She drummed her fingers against the plastic table cloth and waited for him to speak.

Lazily, he picked up his mug and took a big slurp, all the while eying her. "So," he said, as he lowered the mug. "how long do you think it will be before Cath comes back to work?"

She sighed. Even though she had been thinking jealous thoughts about Catherine she wasn't completely callus to the other woman's pain. "I don't know." She answered truthfully. She fingered the paper napkin as she spoke, not looking at him. "I'd say a month or more. Grissom gave both her and Warrick four weeks."

"It's good that he's with her." He spoke softly. "She really needs him right now."

Sara nodded. "She does."

"Everybody needs somebody, don't you think?"

She looked up at him, wondering what hidden meaning was behind it. "I guess."

"But you don't need anybody."

She narrowed her eyes. "What does that mean?"

"You don't let anybody in." He said simply.

"Yes I do."

"Do you?"

She rolled her eyes, annoyed. "Why are you asking me these questions, Greg? I don't see the point."

He leaned forward and reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear. "I'm just saying."

"Well don't say." She snapped, sliding back against the cool leather seat. "Why did you ask me to meet you here? To tell me that I need help?"

"Not at all." His tone was mild, controlled—very uncharacteristic of the Greg who usually wore his heart on his sleeve. "I asked you to meet me here because I enjoy your company."

"And this is how you let me know you enjoy my company?"

"No." He corrected. "This is how I let you know that I'm your friend and that I want you to let me in."

"Why?"

The whole conversation seemed unreal and stupid to her. Why in the hell was he bringing this up now? Why now?

"Because I like you and I care about you."

"Okay then."

Her sarcasm did not go unnoticed, but he seemed quite willing to overlook it. He looked at her thoughtfully before speaking again. "You don't believe me, do you?"

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters. Sar, you're my friend and everything that you think and feel matters to me."

She was fed up. "What is it that you want, Greg? I don't understand why all of a sudden you want to—" She struggled to find the right words. "bond with me, or whatever this is."

He sighed and shook his head slightly. "I guess it's because Lindsay's dying make me think about the people who are important to me. Life's so short and one minute you're here and the next you're not." He reached over and grabbed her hand firmly. "I care about you Sara. I asked you here today because I want you to know that."

She didn't know what to say–couldn't find the words, so she just stared.

"I want to take you out on a date." he finished.

"A date?" She squeaked. "You want to go on a date with me?"

"People have been known to do it." He answered lightly.

"You're serious?"

He nodded. "I've wanted to take you out for a long time and I never got around to asking—" he looked deep into her eyes, searching for a clue as to what she was feeling. "But I'm asking now."

She was stunned, to say the least. Stunned but so darn pleased. She hadn't been asked out on a date in months, and even though she'd never really considered Greg to be a possibility, the possibility now warmed her.

Trying not to sound desperate, she smiled. "I'd love to."

And so it was decided.


	13. Hollow

An: Thanks to CSIandERaddict and Shelbers for your great reviews. Also to MichaelScofieldislove and to my SuperTinfoilMan for all of the reviews. If it weren't for your four I wouldn't be writing chapter Fourteen. Cuddy. XXoo

**Guilty Heart- Chapter Thirteen**

Danny Messer stepped off of the subway car and out into the bright lights of the subway station at Grand Central. He had exactly twenty-five minutes to get to work and he had the distinct feeling that he was going to have an awful day. He passed by several musicians playing various instruments, namely a violin, a flute and one grungy looking grey haired hippy playing a rendition of 'Mustang Sally', and wondered vaguely why he'd given up guitar. He'd played since he was old enough to actually hold one—and he'd played it well. He supposed it came from his mother's side of the family—whom, each and every one of them played an instrument or sang.

He dropped a five in the near empty case of the hippie and nodded as he passed.

"God bless you." The fifty-something man called out to him.

"You're welcome."

Dressed in a grey suit with a black silk tie, he grabbed the attention of many female passers by and even some male. Even though a pretty blond in a mauve silk dress with killer legs and a smile to match, winked encouragingly at him as he passed, he ignored her and kept going. He had not the time nor the energy to think about anyone but his job. The guilt of the past always hung over his head and around his neck like a noose.

After he had cheated on Jamey with his partner, Aidan Burn, he'd been practically celibate–accept for the one time that he'd ended up drunk at a staff party and taken home one of the lab techs—which had been a total mistake—and had to spend the rest of the year trying to avoid her in the hallways at work.

The thing was that he'd never cheated on anyone before, and certainly never intended to cheat on the one woman that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Jamey Kent was not the kind of girl you cheated on or just fooled around with—she was the kind of girl that you married, had kids with and did everything you could to try and keep her happy. And fate had taken all of that away from him. Fate and his falling into an affair with his partner.

With a sinking heart he realized that he hadn't done much of anything the last three years but make mistakes.

He made it to work on time, but was still in an agitated mood even though he'd had the past two days off work. Mac always gave him a few days on the anniversary of and the day after A.J.'s death. It was unspoken, and never discussed, but during those two days no one from the lab called him for any reason. He always found it difficult for weeks after the actual date had passed but tried to not let anyone else see it. Sleeping was a problem, eating, and most off all, not getting plastered until he couldn't see strait, was the biggest temptation of all.

He supposed that he should have been thanking Aidan for that much. She had helped him get sober when he didn't think he'd have the strength to live another day without Jamey or A.J. and she was the only reason that he still had a job—always making sure that he'd get to work on time, picking him up in the morning armed with a big bottle of mouthwash and a huge coffee to make sure that he was sober for work. Even though they had crossed the line a zillion times into adultery he would always carry a special place in his heart for the Bronx beauty. And now she was gone–fired for planting evidence.

He donned on a white lab coat and proceeded in the direction of the lab to check a few samples that he'd sent to Trace. As he walked down the hall he spotted Mac with a woman he'd never seen before. She was only about five foot six with shoulder length dirty blond hair and to be quite honest she looked damn near terrified. She wore a blue blazer over a white t-shirt with matching pants and black shoes. She clasped a small purse in her hand–or clutched it—depending on how close you were to her–and nodded at something that Mac was saying.

As he neared the pair, Mac looked up and waved him over. "Danny, come meet our new colleague."

He felt himself stiffen. She wasn't just a new colleague—she had been sent to replace Aidan–and he didn't like it, not one bit. The muscles in his jaw tightened and he had to stop himself from curling his lip into a sneer at the sight of her. He knew it wasn't fair to her—she had done nothing to him personally–but he still didn't like the thought of someone taking Aidan's job.

He stopped, as to not offend his boss, and jammed his hands into the deep pockets of his lab coat—a gesture that did not go unnoticed by Mac Taylor–and simply stared.

"Danny Messer—this is Lindsay Monroe. She's come to us from the best Crime Lab in Montana." The elder C.S.I. introduced the two, giving Danny a pointed look with a raised eyebrow.

"Hi." The woman smiled and stuck out her hand. "It's nice to meet you. I've heard lots of things about you." She said, attempting to be friendly.

Unimpressed, Danny reluctantly pulled his hand out of his pocket and barely shook hers before he dropped it. "Hi." He said gruffly. "Nice ta meet ya." He looked up at Mac, as he silently dismissed Lindsay.

Mac cleared his throat and turned his attention back to the new girl, who was clearly uncomfortable with Danny's less-than-cheery welcome.

"Yes, well, I suppose we should continue our tour. I want you to meet our other colleague Stella Bonasera before I send you and Danny out to Battery Park."

Danny blanched noticeably and Lindsay widened her eyes. "Mac, you're sendin her with me?"

"Yes, Danny, I am." Mac said pointedly. "Do you have a problem with that?"

He considered the no-nonsense look on his superiors face before answering.

"Nope." He jammed his hands back into the lab coat and glanced at Lindsay before starting down the hall. "Make sure you got your kit, Montana."

And with that he continued off down the hall, leaving both Mac and Lindsay staring after him.

"He's just moody. You'll get used to it." Mac said by way of explanation, as he walked her toward the break room.

"Just moody." Lindsay muttered under her breath. "Welcome to New York."


	14. Possession

**Guilty Heart- Chapter Fourteen**

Nick and Jamey spent the entire day in bed enjoying each other's company. They made love twice more and each time they did, something inside of both of them ran together and cemented like concrete like a resounding gong that would ring for the rest of their lives.

They were a wonderful mesh of limbs, a tangle of pent up passion, a truly compatible couple in every way—and both were beginning to realize the gravity of it all. Slick bodies wound around each other, wanting and needing until they both thought they had died and gone to heaven. Never had either of them experienced such love making, such wanton give and take—the likes that neither one of them would experience with another.

Truly exhausted, Jamey lay on her back while Nick opted to lie on his side facing her so he could run his fingers through her dark hair. Her eyes were shut, content, peaceful. His were slits—lusty and colorful, his heart still racing, his flesh more than satisfied.

"Tired?" He asked as he slowly wound his fingers around the tendrils, relishing the silky feel along his palms.

"Ummm." A lazy smile spread over her face while her eyes remained closed. "You sure do know how to take it outta a girl, Billy Ray."

He snorted. "_I_ know? I think it may have been the other way around, darlin."

"It's a tie then."

He leaned down and gave her a tender kiss. "I won't argue with that."

She wore only a pair of army green bikini bottoms and he, a pair of dark blue navy boxers. The fan in the corner of the room added a pleasant hum as it delivered small, infrequent puffs of lukewarm air. It was getting dark now and the sun was slowly setting over Vegas and Nick could never remember being so happy.

He traced his finger slowly over the scar on her left elbow. "Where did this come from?"

She stiffened and opened her eyes and stared blankly at the wall. She should have known that it would come; The questions, the interest in her past—and she really couldn't keep putting him off and for the first time in a long time—didn't know if she wanted to.

"That scares you, doesn't it?" He asked as he ran his finger down her arm and laced her hand with his. "Me asking you little things like that?"

She bit down on her lip for a minute. "Yes it does. I haven't talked about anything with anyone for so long, Nick. I don't know if I can do it now."

"Hey." He moved his hand to cup her face so she could really look at him—see the love that burned behind brown eyes. "Jame, I'm not asking for much here. I'm just curious about your childhood, where you grew up and stuff."

He saw the fear in her face, the stark terror that had etched itself on her furrowed brow, heard her breath quicken—and felt hurt that she didn't trust him even after the last twenty-four hours—or at least trust him enough to tell him a little.

"I grew up in Queens." She began, not looking at him, rather, turning her head to look out the window. "I had a wonderful childhood. My parents were happy, they treated me well. I had everything a little girl could ask for." She said, her voice almost monotone.

He felt his heart soar at the tidbit of information, but he knew he wasn't going to get far unless she felt safe with him. Gently he rolled her over until her head rested above his heart. He continued to run his hands through her hair. At least she was close to him, even if he couldn't see her face. The beauty of it all was that she let him. _Him_.

"I got the scar on my elbow when I was learning how to ride my bike." She admitted softly. "My dad had let go of the back—he told me that I was ready–and this cab cut through the parking lot we were in and I didn't know what to do so I drove into a brick wall and knocked out my two front teeth and cut my elbow on a broken bottle that I landed on."

"How old were you?"

"Five."

"That mustof hurt."

"It did. I also broke my nose but since no blood came out no one knew it until years later."

"Your nose looks fine to me."

"You would say that—after all of the sex you've had in the past few hours. You wouldn't dare insult my crooked nose." She said lightly.

"Darlin, I wouldn't insult you if my hair were on fire." He said truthfully, but with a tiny edge in his voice. "And I'd say you got plenty of sex from me, so we're about even."

"I didn't mean it the way it sounded." She said, knowing that she must have ruffled his feathers a tiny bit. "My nose is crooked and I'm a little touchy about it."

He took the opportunity to roll her over onto her back so he could look down at her face. What she saw there was love–and it scared her—but it also moved her in a way that she hadn't known for a long time. He saw that she was scared, but in the back of his mind he knew, just knew, that she loved him too. It was only a matter of time before she admitted to it.

"Darlin, your nose is perfect." He drawled, leaning down and kissing it lightly. "I love your nose." He kissed her lips and then drew back. "Please don't think that I planned for this to happen between us like that."

She raised her brow. "What do you mean?"

"Jamey, I've dreamt about making love to you for—well, I'm not gonna say for how long—but it's been a while." He looked down at her earnestly. "I want you to know that I didn't plan on this happening after Lindsay's funeral." He tried to ignore the stricken look on her face, the one that made them remember all too well what had driven them into the arms of each other. "But I'm glad it did." He finished, wanting her to speak, wanting her to tell him she was glad it happened as well.

Against her better judgement—look how it had kept her hidden from everything and everyone for the last few years–she opened her mouth and began to speak to him from the heart.

"Nick, you mean the world to me. I want you to know that I don't regret what happened between us. I loved making love to you, with you. It's been the best thing that has happened to me in a long time." She reached up and cupped his face with her hands. "That is, besides your friendship." She brought his face down to hers for a scorching kiss, which he gladly accepted.

"So what now?" He asked, his mind already preparing itself for rejection that he knew would come. "Do we go back to being friends?" He rolled onto his back and scratched his chest as he waited for her response.

The whole thought of it scared her—in a bad way. Going back to being friends meant that she wouldn't get to touch him again–wouldn't get to make love to him—and it also meant that he'd be free to date and make love to anyone else he wanted to. The very thought made her want to breathe fire.

No way was she going back to being his friend. She wanted him all to herself–but at a very selfish price; She still wasn't ready to tell him about Danny and A.J. and didn't know if she ever would be. He'd have to accept it or there would be no changing their fate.

"Nick, I don't think that us going back to being friends is going to work, do you?"

"Nope."

"What do you want?"

He looked over at her, sensed her hesitation. "I know what I want but the question is what do you want?"

She pursed her lips and rolled over on her side to face him, frowning. "I can only give you _me_ right now. Nothing else. Only me. Not my past."

It was his turn to frown. "You mean you still can't tell me anything about your life?" He sighed. "Jamey, do you _still _not trust me?"

"I didn't say that. I trust you with my life." She corrected. "I can't tell you what happened in New York. I'm not----" She searched for the right words. "ready to talk about it. I don't know if I'll ever be able to talk about it. It was so awful, so–" She stopped, seeing the hurt etched in his eyes. She brought her hand and grazed it across the stubble on his cheek. "It's not about trust. It's about self-preservation–and I don't like the person I become when I talk about my old life. Believe me, if you knew what I've done in my past you probably wouldn't want to be with me."

"Were you a mafia hit-woman?" He tried to lighten the mood.

"No."

"A mafia hit-_man_?"

"Get real."

He raised his hand in mock surrender. "Hey–it does happen you know. Although I don't want to think about you being a man." He sighed and turned over so he could drape his arm over her waist. "Jame, I don't care what you did or didn't do in your past. I only want you and if that's what I can have then I'll take it."

"Are you sure? Because I am not ready to tell you. I can't tell you. I don't know if I'll ever be able to tell you—can you handle that?"

"Only if you give me you. Not part of you. All of you. Now."

"That seems like a lot."

He narrowed his eyes. "It's not." He leaned down and kissed her. "Do you want to be with me? Because if you think that there is even a tiny possibility, even a flash of one, please tell me now. Cause I can't let you go, not after what's happened between us."

"I want to be with you." She admitted, closing her eyes. "But I'm scared."

"Well, we can take it slow."

She snorted. "We already live together, Nick. Does that sound like slow?"

"Do you want to move out? Get your own place—than we could just date like normal couples do." Oh, man, that was the last thing he wanted to happen, but he wanted to give her time and space if she needed it. He prayed she didn't. "Or we could just date every once in a while. Make it an open relationship. You can date whomever you want." He couldn't help the almost sick feeling he got in his stomach at the sentence.

Her eyes opened. "Open relationship?"

"If that's what you want."

She narrowed her eyes. "You want me to move out and get a boyfriend? Make love with him the way I did with you?" She asked, somewhere between amused and annoyed. "To see where _we_ are? How _we_ fit?"

"NO." He almost sounded angry. "Hell NO." The thought of some other guys hands on her—.

"You want some other guy puttin his —"

He held up his hand. "Don't want to hear it, Jame." His eyes clashed with her vibrantly green orbs. "I don't want to scare you away."

"Suggesting that we see other people probably isn't the way to go about it, cowboy."

She had gotten quite a reaction from him. She knew without a doubt that he couldn't stand the thought of her with someone else. It irked him that she knew it.

"Would you mind if I saw other people?" He asked mildly.

"Do you want to see other people?" She dodged.

He shook his head and gave her an oily smile. "I didn't ask you _that_. I asked if you would _mind_."

She drew in a deep breath and looked him strait in the eye. "If you wanted to date someone else I wouldn't stop you."

"So—" He began, while grabbing her hand and dragging it toward his chest. "You wouldn't mind another woman touching me here." He ran her hand over the hard muscles of his upper chest. She blanched. He was inwardly delighted. "And here, how about here?" He asked, taking her hand and touching his lips. "Would you mind if another woman kissed me?"

Still no answer. Only he could just about see the steam billowing from the top of her head.

"How about here?" He asked, his voice turning husky, as pins shot through his lower abdomen. He guided her hand lower and lower to the waistband of his boxers. "Would you mind that—?"

Not about to take any more she rolled over on top of him and straddled his legs. She took both of his arms and pinned them by his sides as she leaned down and brought her face to his.

"Yesssssss."

He grinned. "Yes, what?"

Her eyes turned lusty, wanton. "I'd mind." She lowered her mouth to his, claiming him. "You bet your hot texan ass."

He grabbed her behind and gave it a squeeze. "That's all I needed to know."

She leaned down and began to kiss his chest and then, using her tongue, began to kiss her way down, knowing that it would drive him crazy—but he was hers and she wanted him to know it. One look at his bottom half told her that he was already hers—and then some.

"So we're clear?"

He groaned. "We are definitely clear for take off—if you get my drift."


	15. Lost

**Guilty Heart: Chapter Fifteen**

She was dreaming; _She and Lindsay were at the beach. She could hear the sound of water lapping against the shore, smell the hot sand and hear the shouts of delighted children building castles. She saw a baby maybe a year old dressed in a blue one piece bathing suit making her awkward way toward the line of the blue water, screeching with the pure pleasure that comes only from being in one of the most beautiful places on earth. Her reddish blond hair was down to the base of her neck and it shone in the midday sun. _

_They had spread out their towels about forty feet from the water and settled down to eat their traditional picnic lunch of cold grilled cheese sandwiches with plain potato chips. Lindsay was laughing and telling her some story about a girl from her class. Touched by the avid story telling of the very young, the enthusiasm that only young girls have, Catherine reached out and cupped her daughters cheek and rubbed it affectionately. _

_Lindsay, her baby; The only good thing to have come from her marriage to Eddie. Her girl, now becoming a young woman. In her dark blue swim suit she looked more like a sixteen year old instead of the thirteen that she actually was. It was times like this that Catherine wondered how she had managed to raise a daughter as wonderful as Lindsay. She was kind, smart, sassy and above all, she had her mother's strait spine, the kind that bent for nothing and no one. Maybe that's why they had so many fights, so many disagreements. One was so much like the other it was hard to separate where Catherine ended and Lindsay began._

"_Mommmmmm." Lindsay blushed and looked around to make sure that no one else saw the gesture. "I'm not a little kid anymore." _

"_I know you're not." She admitted, and stifled a smirk. "But you will always be my little girl." _

_After they ate, Lindsay eyed the water and looked back at her mother, whom was now lying back on her towel in her black two piece. "Think I can make it out to the buoy line this time?" _

"_I don't know if you should swim out that far." Catherine mused, looking at how far it was to the roped off area. "It's pretty far, Linds." _

_Lindsay feigned annoyance. "Mom—you never had a problem before. I'm a good swimmer. I really am." She said convincingly. _

_Catherine sighed. You had to let them go sometime. "Okay." She relented, but sat up and pushed her sunglasses up over her head into her rich hair. "But if you get tired turn around and come right back." _

"_I promise." Lindsay said excitedly. She jumped up from her towel and ran to the water's edge and proceeded in carefully, for the water was cold but not cold enough to keep her from going in. All of the girls in her sixth grade class bragged about being able to make it to the buoy line–and so would she–if it was the last thing she did._

_She waded up to her waist and felt the deliciously cold chill shock her body. Laughing, she turned around and waved to her mother, who was now sitting up on the towel watching her. Lindsay resisted the urge to roll her eyes and yell at her mother for being so over-protective. She was thirteen years old, practically a woman and she knew how to swim!_

_It took her a good fifteen minutes to make her way out to the blue and red line. Feeling a tiredness that she hadn't expected she slowed her pace just a bit as she waited for her heart to slow. Satisfied, she continued along and felt the delicious satisfaction of her hand touching the rope triumphantly. _

"_Yes!" Now she'd have something to brag to Pamela Jenkins about at school the next day._

_She kicked her legs and turned around back towards the shore, arms and legs pumping as she did the front crawl._ _As her mother watched from the sand, Lindsay Willows profile became smaller. Squinting, Catherine stood up and watched in amazement as the sight of Lindsay became blurred, marred._

"_Lindsay!" She cupped her hands around her mouth, panic building in her stomach. "Lindsay, come back in here—you're too far out!" _

"_I'm fine." Lindsay breathed as she kept going. "I'm fine mom." But she suddenly felt tired—so tired—and couldn't explain it. The cold water chilled her to the very core as she continued inward. She tried to keep her stiff arms moving, but had to stop and tread water._

"_Lindsay!" _

"_Mom—" She couldn't explain why her voice sounded so soft, so small. "I think I need some help." She mumbled to no one in particular._

"_I'm coming! Hold on!" Catherine disregarded the curious looks from the others on the beach as she raced down to the water and began her furious race to get to her daughter._

_Almost at once, Catherine lost sight of her as the waves roared and slapped down hard on the rest of the water. She could hear the pounding of the surf in her ears, a dull roar, as her eyes darted for her only child. _

_Stroke, stroke, stroke; Catherine swam as fast as her chilled body would allow._

_Frantically, she called out Lindsay's name again and again, confused as to why she couldn't see her._

"_Mom. I can't hold on much longer." The cold water had started to feel almost warm, like a blanket as she treaded the best she could._

"_Lindsay!" _

"_Momma. I'm okay now." She mumbled drowsily, allowing her aching limbs to stop their sporadic churning. She could hear the sound of the water, feel its warm arms taking her under, deep down._

_And she rested._

"_LINDSAY!" _

Catherine squinted her eyes against the soft morning light that poured through the sheer curtains of her bedroom and immediately felt the urge to throw up. Lindsay was gone. It was the same nightmare that she'd had every night since her daughter had died. They were always at the beach and Catherine watched her down over and over again. It was a kind of hell that she could barely describe; the kind that is so powerful, so overwhelming, it's hard to explain it in words.

Throwing back the covers, she ran down the hall and into the bathroom, barely making it before she relieved the contents of her churning stomach into the toilet. Resting her head on the porcelain, she felt the burning sensation in her throat and remembered that she was likely to be doing this every morning for the next few months.

If she continued on with the pregnancy. Shit. This had come at the worst possible time, especially because Warrick wanted this baby. He wanted to be a father when she would have preferred that he'd told her to have an abortion. But he wasn't that kind of man, she knew it and should have known it all along. He was a stand-up guy, a real family man at heart. If she aborted this child she knew that she might as well abort his along with it. He'd never recover if she did.

She felt a comforting hand on her shoulder and immediately began to cry. She buried her head in her hands and really let go. "Shh, shhhh. I'm here, baby. Let it out." His calm voice spoke volumes to her as she knelt next to her and ran his hands though her dirty unwashed hair.

She felt guilty for treating him so bad. She didn't deserve him, his goodness, his love and yet, he hadn't left her side since the morning they found Lindsay. It had all been too much; Lindsay's death, her finding out that she was pregnant all in the same week. She just couldn't do this—any of it—life, death, new life or possibly death. She wanted to curl up and die—and maybe then she'd stop feeling nothing but pain.

He stood up and ran a face cloth under the tap, wrung it out and sat down behind her. Gently he guided her shoulders back and rested her head against his chest. He wiped off her forehead and her cheeks then tossed it aside and wrapped his arms around her.

"I love you, Catherine." He murmured into her hair. "Don't leave me."

She cried harder, her whole body reverberating with sobs, aching and deep. She grabbed onto his arms and squeezed. "I—can't—do—this."

"Yes you can." He argued, his voice gritty with emotion. "You can—don't give up. I'm here." He rocked them both back and forth. "Don't leave me." He repeated. "I need you. This baby needs you."

"Kill me, Warrick." She pleaded, still sobbing harshly. "Kill me! I want to die!"

"No. No!" His voice took on a pleading tone. "You can't leave me. Don't say things like that!"

"I don't care—don't you see that?" She implored. "I don't want to be here without her. I don't think I want this baby—and you should walk away now. I want an abortion."

"You do care." He corrected, feeling the jolt of pain and fear at her last statement. "You're just too hurt to realize it now. It will get better with time, Cath."

"It won't." She moaned. "It won't."

"It will." He argued, the desperate undertone, slowly making its way to the surface. "I want this baby even if you don't."

"I can't do it. I can't do it. I won't do it!"

"Then I'll do it for you. Don't give this up, Catherine. You'll regret it for the rest of your life and you'll never be able to take it back. Or me. Give the baby to me. I'll take it. Don't have an abortion." He had to stop talking before he broke down and cried along with her. It was something he did in private when he was on the couch or in the bathroom. He didn't want to make it any harder on her than he had to.

Ending the subject, he tenderly extracted his arms from her and stood up, then leaned down and picked her up and carried her back to the bedroom and set her back in bed. He looked tired, she noted, as allowed him to tuck her in. She had no clue as to what time it was but he had already showered and was dressed in a green t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. He smelled like soap—comforting, good. But there was a worn down look that had etched itself in his face, a droop in his shoulders that hadn't been there before.

"Do you need anything? Can I get you some tea?" He offered, his voice cracking a bit, as he brought up the covers around her chin. He didn't look at her, didn't want her to see how close to tears he was. How his heart was breaking off piece by piece. The both knew that if she got rid of this baby that he'd be gone. There would be nothing left to say. But if she didn't have his child, he would have to walk away.

She realized, for the first time in days, that he was taking it almost as hard as she was, and felt guilty for not thinking about his needs too. He had been by her side constantly, taking her abuse, taking her unkind words, but he still stayed even when he shouldn't have.

"Warrick." She sensed a desperate need to hold on to him–if only for a moment. She was losing him and she didn't know if she could hold on—do what he asked.

He didn't at her, only finished fiddling with the blankets and walked over to the blind and hung a dark sheet so she could get a little more sleep. "Get some sleep." He said, reaching up to wipe at a tear that had made its way to the surface. "I can't talk about this subject with you anymore right now." He wasn't angry–he was sad, heartbroken and most of all–damn tired. He needed to think about things and come back to her when he had the energy to deal with whatever words came out of her mouth.

"War—"

"I'm tired, Catherine. We can talk about this later." He ran his hands through his dark hair.

"I'm sorry." She whispered as she wiped at her own tears, her breathing now back to normal. "I'm sorry that I don't have the strength to have your baby. I just don't think I can do it. I want to call the clinic tomorrow."

He held up his hand and his nostrils flared. The watery pain in his green eyes jumped out at her, stung her heart. "I'm not going to talk about this anymore." He said again, this time stronger, louder. I need to think about things and I don't want to hear you say it again."

She opened her mouth and closed it abruptly when she saw him break. Two tears cascaded down his cheeks and he wiped them away–this time angrily. He put his hands on his hips and looked down at the floor, collecting himself.

He raised his head until their eyes met and clung. "Don't make me get angry–because I don't want to do that with you. Not now. I want to be clear with you, Catherine, so listen closely." The heat radiated from him in waves, the pain he was in no longer took a backseat to her needs. " If you get rid of my child—" He stopped. "Our child." He corrected. "You will never see me again. Ever."

He strode away from her toward the door. "I'm trying to be patient with you. I know you're hurting and so am I. I loved Lindsay like a daughter and I love you too, but I have to draw the line when you talk about killing my child."

" We don't have to talk about it any more. Please stay with me. Hold me." She begged. "I want you near to me. I want you to hold me. I won't say another word about the baby. I promise."

He stopped, his back to her, hand on the doorframe. He seemed to be contemplating. She'd not asked that of him until now. He didn't know what to do. He wanted to walk out the door and never come back; He wanted to throw himself at her mercy and beg for her to have this baby; He wanted to yell at her and berate her for being so selfish; But most of all he wanted to her to tell him that it would be fine, that _they_ would be fine.

He turned around and looked at her blatantly. "Does that mean that you'll reconsider?"

She sighed. " War—this baby isn't a good idea. You know it. I know it. Let's just—"

His eyes widened. "Let's just 'what'? Forget about it?" Very close to losing his temper, he pointed at her. "You want me to come over there and hold you so you can feel better about killing my child? You want me to tell you that it's alright? Even after you know how much I want this baby? You want me to make _you_ feel better?" He cocked his head to the side, the corners of his mouth turning down, his voice very unsteady. "If you think I'm gonna tell you that's it's alright, that it doesn't matter—than you don't know me at all."

She blinked at his outburst. "I need you—isn't that enough?"

He wiped at his tears again. "Not anymore." He walked out of the room and shut the door behind him. "I have to go out. I'll be back later."

He jogged down the stairs and grabbed his keys and cell phone from the side table dish and went out to his Department issued Denali. He punched in Nick's number and brought the phone to his ear. If there was one thing he needed at the moment it was his best friend.

Inside, Catherine got out of bed and walked downstairs just in time to see him back out of the driveway. She went into the kitchen and picked up the phone and punched in the number. Tears cascaded down her cheeks as she listened to the ringing. Taking a deep breath when she heard the spanish secretary, she spoke in as steady a voice as she could manage.

"Dr. Miller's office."

"This is Catherine Willow's. I need an appointment to See Dr. Miller as soon as possible."

She wrote down the date on her calendar and then rushed up the stairs and into the bathroom again. As she slid down to the floor she felt even emptier than before.

But this time she was alone.


	16. Broken

**Guilty Heart: Chapter Sixteen**

It was the fourth day that the graveyard shift had not been at work. Grissom and Ecklie had both agreed that a few days, at minimum, were to be expected. The rest of the others had willingly filled in with a minimum of questions.

Today was Saturday, and Lindsay had been buried for two days, dead for four. Gil Grissom looked up from his stack of papers and pinched the tip of his nose, sliding his glasses up onto his forehead and let out a deep sigh. He literally ached for Catherine and Lindsay, having known both for ten years or longer, he'd forgotten just how long they had been a part of his life. Lindsay had always called him Uncle Gil, a term that he never let on pleased him. But it did. Immensely.

The dull aching feeling he'd had for days seemed to accompany the beating of his heart; always present and a constant reminder that he was still alive and dear Lindsay was not. He wondered if he should call Catherine to see how she was doing, or better yet, he decided, call Warrick. He'd already called five times and left messages but never heard back from either of them. Maybe it was best to let them be. They had almost another three weeks before they were due back at work. He seriously doubted that she would be ready to come back by then, but kept that feeling to himself.

He thought of Nick and Jamey, whom both had taken the news hard. Nick always wore his heart on his sleeve, always let people know what he thought. At the funeral his eyes were bloodshot and he made no move to wipe away the tears that fell. He was comfortable enough with his masculinity. A real man wasn't afraid to show his feelings. The thought, hitting a little too close to home for Gil's comfort, was dismissed as he thought about Ms. Kent. She had looked utterly bereaved, lost—as she clutched onto Nick's arm— torn, but strangely enough, not even there at all. As she watched the coffin being lowered into the ground, she looked through it, over it, around it—as if she were in another time and place–reliving some other moment. She was a mystery as much to him as to the rest of her co-workers. Although, he had the feeling that she could only hold on for so long—being alone was an acquired taste, one that not many people could successfully life their lives by—he should know–before she turned to the Texan who, so obviously, loved her.

Even the lab had taken on a pale of mourning. People were busy for the most part stayed out of his way, scurrying around him or away from him. To tell the truth he preferred it that way. He was never good at dealing with his emotions or the emotions of others and liked to be by himself.

He closed his eyes and leaned back in the old worn out leather chair that had kept him comfortable for years on end. He scrubbed his hands over his face and seriously contemplated going home and getting drunk. It wasn't like he did it everyday–he rarely ever touched alcohol–but today was different. Today he wanted to shut off his brain, his emotions and not feel anything.

He had almost decided that it was a good idea, when a knocking at his door interrupted his reverie. He sat up and pushed his glasses back down. "Come in."

The door swung open and Sara's head peaked around the corner. "Gris? Can I come in for a minute?" She asked softly. Her brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail. He'd always liked it when she wore her hair back.

"Of course." Surprised that she was even in the building, he sat up a little straighter and waited to see what she wanted.

She proceeded into the room, her long legs looking very lanky in the tight blue jeans she wore, watching him cautiously and seemed almost apprehensive. "Are you okay?" She asked as she sat down on the chair opposite his and crossed one leg over the other.

He blinked and cleared his throat. "I'm fine, Sara. Thank-you for asking." He said mildly. He fiddled with his pen for a second, leaned forward and waited for her to get to the point. When she didn't get right to it, he did. "Is there something I can do for you, Sara?"

She nodded her head. "Uh, right" she cleared her throat "—I just wanted to let you know that I'm working my normal shift today."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive." She said, looking very uncomfortable. She looked down at her hands while she spoke. "I–uh–didn't know Lindsay as well as the rest of you and I feel like it's wrong of me to take the time off when—well—I don't have reason to." She looked up at him to see what he was thinking, and of course, was left in the dark, accept for the quick flash of sorrow that cut across his face at Lindsay's name was mentioned, but dissipated and he put his professional mask back on.

He took a breath and set the pen down. "That's fine." He looked around her, not at her and Sara knew that he was still grieving hard, even if he wouldn't talk about it—much less with her.

"There's lots to do around here." He said absently, as he picked the pen back up again. Sara stared at him—not sure what to say.

"Okay." She said, attempting a flat smile. "I just wanted you to know. Greg's here too." She jerked her thumb behind her. "We just figured that we'd get back to normal."

"That's nice."

"Gris?" She questioned, cocking her head to the side. "You sure you're okay?"

Quite abruptly, he stood up and grabbed his coat off the back of his chair. "I'm going home." He stated as he walked around the side of the desk toward the door, which he held open for her.

Taking the hint, she rose from the chair, regarding him quizzically. He never missed work–why, she'd been working with him for at least five years and she'd never once seen him go home. "You? You're going home?" She asked incredulously, her brown eyes widening to saucers. "But—what do I —do Greg and I just----" She stopped talking and followed him out into the hall. "What do you want us to do?"

"Solve crime. You're good at it." He said quickly, eager for her to leave. "Ask Ecklie for your assignments."

" See you tomorrow, Sara." Was the last thing he said before he locked the door and departed down the hall, his shoulders in a slump.

She stood staring and shaking her head as she watched him walk away. She felt sorry for this man who could never let anyone in, never let love in. There was a time when she'd loved him–loved him so much it hurt—but that time was over. Looking back she'd realized that it wasn't love. It wasn't mutual.

She jumped when a pair of strong arms wound around her waist for a moment and squeezed, then let go.

"Hey good lookin." Greg whispered in her ear, as he backed away, knowing that she didn't want to bring whatever they had into the job. He was wearing a black turtleneck sweater and jeans, which was very unlike him but seemed to set the pallid mood that had settled all around them.

"Hey Greg." She said softly, turning toward him. She looked sad, confused and he recognized it instantly. Her brown eyes were downcast and she gave him a half smile, as they started toward the lab.

"Are you alright?" He asked, knowing full well that she felt guilty for not feeling bad enough to stay home from work.

She nodded, looking in the direction that Grissom had taken. "Gris is really taking this hard."

"Well, he's known Lindsay since she was a baby."

"He went home, Greg–_home_." She continued, bringing her finger to her mouth so she could chew her nail. "I'm worried about him."

His eyebrows rose and fell as he watched her, hoping that she was over this man who would never be able to love her the way she deserved to be loved. "Really?" He made a sad face. "He's human, Sar. No matter what anyone says."

"I guess you're right." She admitted, giving him a real smile this time–gap tooth and all. "I'm glad that you're here." She said softly, as they reached the Trace lab. "I'm glad that we decided to do this."

"Me too."


	17. Shoulder

Around eight, Nick woke up and rolled over to watch his sleeping beauty. Grinning, he reached out and rubbed his hand over her dark hair. It was so soft, so silky and perfect. In her sleep she moved her head against his hand and moaned softly, almost like a cat, lapping up the affection happily. He looked at her closed eyes, her delicate lashes, and cute turned up nose and felt his heart speed up all over again.

Heaven: He was in heaven; He was sure that he had never felt passion or longing before. Had never experienced what so many others spent entire lifetimes trying to have—and the wonder of it all was that it had been in front of his face and he'd never known what real love had been like before Jamey. He knew that he would never feel the same way about another woman as long as he lived.

Tucking his hands behind his head, he thought back to their conversation the night before and how she could only give him so much. It seemed to Nick that if he just gave her more time that she would eventually have to come around and tell him about her past. After all, she'd never thought that she'd make love with anyone ever again and she had with him—quite a few times in the past couple of days. He consoled himself with the fact that she had told him a few more things about herself that he'd never known before; Like the fact that she had been engaged to some guy named Danny, that they had been together for years. She had even divulged the information that Danny had been unfaithful to her with his partner and that the infidelity had been the very end to the relationship. She had been so hurt, so demolished, that she felt that she needed to get away from him, from her life in New York. But being no fool, he also realized that being from New York, she most definitely missed the city and he found himself wondering if she'd ever want to move back.

What he found funny, odd, was that she didn't mention her family----not her parents, any siblings that she might have; No friends that she missed. It was almost as if she had fallen from the sky into Las Vegas with no past. Only the here and now. He hoped that she would open up to him in time. That's all either of them had.

One step at a time. He could do that.

Deciding that he was famished, he prepared to get out of bed, but watching her had made him want to stay as close as possible to her. Maybe she'd agree to a shower for two before breakfast. "Good mornin' darlin." Nick rolled over and ran his finger tips over Jamey's forehead lightly. "Are you hungry?" He asked, leaning down and planting a kiss on her bare shoulder.

"Ummmm." She mumbled drowsily. "Just let me sleep a few more minutes." She mumbled.

"How about getting up and having a shower with me?" He prompted, leaning down for another kiss, this time on the side of her neck. He was rewarded by her leaning her head to the left, giving him further access to her barred flesh.

"Ummmmmmm." She mumbled, although, this time closer to being fully awake. "That feels good."

"Does it?" He asked, gently gliding his tongue into the hollow spot along her collar-bone, kissing, teasing.

"Um, hum." She squirmed delightedly. "Do you really want me to get up?" She opened her eyes and arched her back. "Cause what you're doing right now is pretty damn good."

"How about I go start the shower and you can come supervise?" He asked, wagging his eyebrows.

She laughed and rolled over to face him and wrapped an arm around his neck, burying her head underneath his chin. It was so good to hear her laugh again. He loved the way her green eyes crinkled and sparkled when she found something amusing and he vowed to make her laugh every day for the rest of her life. It would most definitely be worth the sight and the sound.

"Who is going to supervise me?" She asked. "I don't think I can be held responsible for my actions when I get around you, especially when you're naked."

"That..." He said, rolling away from her and rising out of the bed. "is completely fine with me. We can supervise each other. It'll be fun."

She watched him as he strode toward the door, buck naked. She sucked in her breath as she took in the glorious sight of him; He was all muscle and brawn with his long legs that were well defined—his chest that was firm and buttocks that would please even the pickiest of women-----and he was hers. All hers. She gave an approving whistle as he exited. "Nice buns, cowboy."

"Why thanks, darlin." He chuckled. "Give me two minutes to get the water warm."

Before she had time to get out of bed, Nick's cell phone rang from the bedside table. Groaning, she rolled over and picked it up. The caller I.D. flashed on the small screen. "_Warrick Brown."_

Realizing that it was probably important, she answered.

"Hello?"

"Hello?" The voice was uncertain, like he thought he might have called the wrong number. "Uh...I'm looking for Nick."

"It's me Warrick." She said. When he didn't respond she tried again. "It's Jamey. Are you okay?"

"Oh, hey Jamey. How you doin?" Warrick's deep voice came over the line—although she knew that he was wondering why she would be taking the call. She'd never answered Nick's phone before today.

She sat up in the bed, pulling the white sheet around her breasts. "I'm fine. Are you okay?" She asked again.

There was a pause. "Not really." He confessed, finally. "I need to talk to Nick. Is he around?"

"Ya. He's just starting the shower." She answered. "I'll get him. Just a sec." She pulled back the covers and prepared to get out of bed when Nick came back into the bedroom.

"Water's warm. Now get that beautiful ass in the shower so I can—"

She held up the phone to show him and frantically shook her head back and forth.

He stopped talking abruptly and winced. "Who is it?" He mouthed.

"Warrick." She mouthed back, then covered the phone with her hand. "I'll be in the shower. Don't be too long."

"Sorry." He whispered, accepting the phone from her hand. She turned to walk away and he couldn't help but playfully slap her behind.

"Awwww." She complained and held up a fist to him. "You're gonna get it later."

"I hope so." He grinned and then cleared his throat. "Rick? What's up?"

"What's up? What's up with you and Jamey? What the hell are you two doing over there?"

"Nothing." He lied. "She asked me to start the shower for her, that's all. So, what's up with you?" He changed the subject before any more questions could be asked.

"Can you meet me somewhere?"

"Sure. What's wrong, man?"

Nick sat down on the bed as he listened to his best friends voice crack and then break as he recounted what had happened with Catherine. His heart went out to Warrick and his stomach clenched in knots as he heard the sound of his friend break down and cry. Nick had never heard the other man cry, but the gut-wrenching sobs that came through the line crushed him all the same.

"Come over, man." He instructed, clearing the lump from his own throat. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Just come over, Rick."

He listened for another minute and looked up as Jamey came back into the room, silently questioning him. "Okay. I'll be here." He hung up the phone and buried his face in his hands.

"What's wrong?"

"It's Rick. He's comin over." He stood up, facing her. "I'm sorry, Jame, but can we take a rain-check on the shower? He really needs me right now."

She leaned in and gathered him into a hug. "Of course. He needs you and that's more important."

As their naked bodies clung together, Nick wondered exactly how he had got so lucky to have someone as wonderful as Jamey. They parted before their nakedness gave them any further ideas or their bodies betrayed their minds knew they had to do.

Quietly, they dressed and Jamey went to put on a pot of coffee, each wondering what had happened to make Warrick so upset.

They were soon to find out.


	18. Push

"She want's to _what_?" Nick asked, shocked by what Warrick had just told him. "An abortion?" He sat down on the couch and ran a hand over his short hair, agitated. "Is she serious?"

Warrick sat hunched over, his hands on his knees, head bowed. "She says she can't have it. She's scared that she won't be able to handle it if something happens to the baby." He looked over at Nick, tears glistening in his green eyes. "I want this baby, man. She has no idea what she's doin to me."

Nick sighed, totally at a loss as to what to say or how to say it. He hated the fact that Warrick was so upset but he hated the idea of an abortion even more. He had been raised with the notion that abortion was wrong and that it was a mortal sin. He didn't know much about the sin part, for only God knew the things that he did that were right or wrong, but having a previous girlfriend who had gotten an abortion behind his back, had done things to his mind that he thought would never happen. For example, after the abortion was said and done he spent nights wondering what sex the child had been; what color it's eyes would have been, what it would have looked like. It was a loss that even he couldn't explain and if that child had been allowed to live it would have been almost ten years old. He only knew his heart and at that moment, he was angry at Catherine for putting his best friend in this position----no matter what the circumstances were.

"I know—I know." He said, reaching over and clapping Warrick on the shoulder. "Did you tell her how much the idea upsets you?"

Warrick snorted. "What do you think? She wants to abort my child and I told her that if she did it she'd never see me again—but she says that having a baby is not right for her—not right now." He stood up, renewed with fire and began to pace the room as Nick sat watching. "What does she think she can do? Put it on hold and come back later and then decide that she wants it?"

"I don't know, man."

"Well I do know!" Warrick practically shouted. "She can't! She can't do this to me, to my child! I can't let her!"

"What are you going to do, War? You can't force her to keep it." Nick reminded him gently. "Try talking to her again. She just lost Lindsay and as much as I agree with you about all of it—" He paused and took a deep breath. "It's still her decision."

"I _know_." He growled. "But what about the father? Do we not get a say? Do we not have one damn say in what happens?"

"Just talk to her—reason with her—tell her that you'll stay by her side and never let her go." Nick decided. "Tell her that you'll do everything you can to help her and—"

"Losing a child is a kind of pain that you don't recover from overnight." Came a soft voice from the doorway of the livingroom. "If you ever do recover from it at all. Don't push her, Warrick or —and I guarantee this—you'll lose."

Both men turned to see Jamey standing there leaning against the doorway, her arms crossed over her breasts protectively. She had gotten dressed and wore a pair of Nick's boxers and his Texas State t-shirt—which was something that Warrick failed to notice. There was a kind of pain in her eyes that Nick had seen at the funeral and her voice sounded hollow and far away. She'd discretely left the room when Warrick had arrived, wanting to give the friends some space, but apparently she now had something to say.

"I don't mean to interrupt." She continued, stepping into the room, watching Warrick carefully. "But I think that you should understand how fragile she is right now. She's not in the state of mind to be dealing with all of this—and no matter how hard it is for you, you have to give her that space or you will lose her." She walked over to the couch and sat next to Nick, who glanced at her curiously.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You can't decide for her, War. You don't know what it feels like to lose a child born of your flesh, like she lost Lindsay. It's not been long enough for her to process that information, let alone make a decision about a new baby."

"Do I need to wait?" He asked curtly. "I'm the father----not some bum from off of the street—not some one night stand! I love her and I have the right to tell her not to do this!"

"You don't have the right to _demand_ anything from her." Jamey argued. "She is a grown woman and she has to come to that decision by herself and demanding things from her is going to push her away—not make her closer!"

Nick held his hands up in the air. "Whoa, guys—let's not get nasty here." He faced Warrick. "We're just trying to tell you that you need to give her some space, man—don't "

Warrick blanched and threw his hands up in the air, not liking what he was hearing. "So---" He interrupted, cutting Nick off. " what now then?" He challenged. "Just let her abort my child and leave it at that?"

"No." She answered gently. "You tell her what Nick said. You tell her that you don't know what she's going through, that you could never hope to understand the depth of pain that she is in, but that you need her and you love her and the baby. Tell her that you'll help her through this no matter what she decides."

"Even if she decides to end the pregnancy?"

"_Especially_ if she decides." Jamey said so vehemently, strongly, that Nick did a double take and wondered why she felt so strongly about the subject. "I know you can't imagine losing one of them, War. But can you handle losing _both_ of them?"

"I guess that's a risk that I'm willing to take." He stalked past both Nick and Jamey, but stopped and turned around, pointing at them. "You know, I came here for _help_—for advice–not lectures on why I'm going to lose my child."

"Warrick—we're here to help—" Nick began, but it was too late. Warrick was too wound up, too upset for anyone to reason with him.

"Thanks for nothin." He growled, before he left the room, leaving the two baffled.

"What just happened here?" Nick questioned, as he heard the apartment door slam.

A tiny crack had started in the foundation of a long and good friendship, and neither one of them could answer the million dollar question. The only question left was what the hell was going to happen now?


	19. Pull

**Pull**

Sunday's in New York were blissful to some, busy and hectic to others. There were the Times to be read, coffee to drink, walks in Central Park, benches to sit upon and gaze around at the beauty of the city and all it had to offer. To Lindsay Monroe New York City was an entity onto itself; It was a far cry from Montana days and nights–even the temperatures were impossible for a country girl like herself. The traffic was murder, literally, and the throngs of people everywhere almost made her want to go home.

Almost.

But the city was what made her come alive in a way that she had never felt back home—really feel like she was making a contribution to the lives and deaths of New Yorkers. As she sipped her morning coffee she stared out of her kitchen window and watched the busy street below. Well, she was here for good, or as long as Mac Taylor would keep employing her. If her new partner was any indication she knew that she'd of been on a plane home after her first day on the job. She sighed. Her new partner absolutely hated her and she had no reason as to why.

She couldn't seem to understand Danny Messer----nothing about him suggested that he was a good guy...or even a nice one, as everyone at the lab kept telling her.

_He's a great guy, Lindsay—He'll come around_

_You just don't know him yet...give it time_

_He's one of our best—you'll learn everything you need to know from him_

But he was smart, she'd give him that and she knew that he would teach her a lot...if he'd stop snapping at her every two seconds and give her a chance to show him what she already knew. It seemed that every time she got near a crime scene he hovered around her waiting for her to screw up. A feeling of resentment had started in her chest and spread its way throughout her with every cold word or stare that he sent her.

Screw 'em. She'd show him what girls from Montana were capable of. She took a last sip of her coffee and put her cup in the sink before she sat down at her new kitchen table and opened the huge copy of the Times and flipped to the crossword section. As she sat chewing on the top of her pen, her cell phone rang. She groaned and reached over to pick it up, her chatlin hair, a mix of blond and brown, dipped into her eyes and she impatiently brushed it behind one ear as she answered.

"Monroe."

"It's Danny." Came an impatient voice on the other end.

She rolled her eyes at his not-s0-nice greeting. So much for niceties, she thought sourly. "What can I do for you?"

"I need you to meet me at Battery Park. We got a..." He stumbled a bit, then cleared his throat.

"Yessssss?" She questioned, irritated that he couldn't spit it out.

"A body was found this morning." He said curtly. "Mac and Stella got another call so I guess ya need to get her as fast as you can."

Her heart sank—she was really looking forward to spending her Sunday at home relaxing. So much for that thought. "_Right_ now?"

"No." He said glibly. "Three hours from now, Monroe. Get your country bumpkin ass down here or I'll call someone else."

Her whole body stiffened at the name. She hated when he called her that. Damn him!

"I'll be there." She snapped and pressed end, not even bothering to say goodbye.

Forty-five minutes later she arrived by cab to Battery Park. It was hot as hell outside and she was glad that she wore her short sleeved shirt. She grabbed her kit and started over to the area that the police taped off. Danny was standing back to her as she approached.

"What do we got?" She asked, nastily as she dropped her bag beside him. He turned and shot her an accusing glance, as he pulled up the sleeve of the black shirt he wore to steal a peek at his watch—but it wasn't the look that got her–it was the fact that his face was unusually pale and his eyes were etched with something...something that she hadn't seen before.

She stared back at him, trying to place the emotion that played across his face.

Grief.

Solid.

Torn.

What on earth had happened to make him look that way?

Truth be told he looked like he was about to cry and something in his dark eyes made her want to reach out and caress his cheek or draw his head into her bosom. Surprised by her reaction to him she bent down and opened her kit and murmured. "I'm sorry I'm late. I had to cab-it."

When she looked up at him he seemed at a loss for words–for a second—then bent down to get his latex gloves from his bag. Not looking directly at her he stood again and cleared his throat. "We've got an unidentified male child that some joggers found around 7 this morning. He was moved her from somewhere..." He trailed off, then spoke again. "He definitely drowned."

"How do you know that?" She asked, snapping on a pair of gloves and standing up beside him, craned her neck to see the dead child about five feet away, who was being covered up by a sheet by a uniformed officer.

"He's bloated." Danny answered thickly. "The color of his face suggests that he's been dead about six hours or so. Makes you wonder where the kids parents were." He muttered, walking towards the body.

She sucked in her breath as she approached the child and pulled down the sheet so she could look at him. Poor, sweet innocent child, she thought. Eyes sewn shut tight, blond hair matted to his head. She figured him for about five or six. She went about taking his finger nail scrapings while Danny photographed the body.

As she examined him, she found a blue string under his chin. She reached back and grabbed her tweezers from her bag and a bindle and carefully removed it. "What do you make of this?" She asked standing up and turning around to look for him----but he was already standing behind her, silently, staring at the body–but he was somewhere else. She waved her hand in front of his face. "Danny----are you with me?"

No response—but his face was ashen–that same look he'd had when she'd arrived.

"Danny?" She questioned again, wondering why he was behaving that way when she'd never seen him look like that before–and it was starting to make her nervous.

He blinked a few times and shook his head. "Uh—sorry." He mumbled, then turned away from her and ran about ten feet and stumbled to his knees and threw up in the bushes. She tucked the string into the bindle and, after telling the officer on the scene to watch the evidence, briskly walked over to him.

"Are you okay?"

He jumped as she put a tentative hand on his back, and shook her hand away. "I'm fine." He snapped nastily. "I'm not feeling great today, Montana. Don't freak out."

He stood up and wiped his mouth off with his sleeve but it was clear that he was anything but okay.

"Can I get you anything?" She asked. "Some water?"

"Nah."

"Do you need to go home?" She gestured behind her. "I can finish up here."

He scoffed. "Ya. You'd love ta tell Mac that I couldn't handle the scene and had to leave, wouldn't ya?"

She stiffened and drew back. "No...I...just thought that..."

"Well don't think." He snapped, walking away from her. "I'm fine."

"Ya." She murmured. "Right."


	20. Carry Me

"What just happened here?" Nick asked quietly, turning to look at Jamey.

"He's not himself." She answered, getting up off of the couch and walking into the kitchen. "He's too upset to see her side of things."

Knowing that he had to choose his words carefully, Nick strode across the livingroom and took a seat at the kitchen table as Jamey poured both of them a fresh cup of coffee. " I meant the part that you said about Catherine." He said softly. "You sounded pretty adamant."

"Well, he wasn't being fair to her."

"Fair? You don't think he was fair? What do you call what she's doing to him?" He asked, a little more harshly than he intended.

"It is her body."

"But it's his baby too!"

"It's not up to him."

"And you really believe that it's all her decision?" He asked shortly.

"Yes, I do."

"I don't think that you're being fair here, Jame."

She looked up, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"Well...you were pretty hard on him, don't you think?"

"No." She said, as she poured cream into the cups and gently stirred. "I don't think I was." She turned her back to him as she put in the sugar. "And I don't think we should discuss this any further."

But he wasn't ready to let it go. He knew that there were things that she was unwilling to discuss—but this? They weren't allowed to discuss their own friends? He leaned his elbows on the table and narrowed his eyes.

"Jame—no offense but Rick's my best friend and I don't think that we have any right to tell him to back off of her. I mean if it was you and me in the situation don't you think that I would have the right to..."

"Well it isn't you and me." She snapped, picking up the cups and bringing him his and clanking it down on the table. "And if it were I certainly would hope that you would leave it up to me to decide if I wanted an abortion or not."

At a loss for words—he knew he'd certainly stepped on her toes and treaded into unchartered territory—he accepted the mug and took a slow sip. "But what if it was you and me?"

She drew in an impatient breath—her mood certainly had soured in the past hour—and sat down beside him and shot him an annoyed look. "Nick—we aren't talking about us—we're talking about Catherine and her right to choose. I don't think it's really any of our business so I don't want to get into this any further. I"m sorry I said as much as I did."

"But what if we were?" He questioned again, starting to get as annoyed at her avoidance of the subject as she was at him asking the question. "Would you say that I don't have any choice in the matter?"

When she didn't answer he crossed his arms over his chest. "We are sleeping together. There is a chance that you could get pregnant–" He ignored the terrified look that came across her face and continued. "So I think that means I have the right to ask a few questions whether or not you like it."

"Look—" She set her mug down and pierced him with a, now, angry stare. "I told you before that I don't want to talk about this. We're using protection so I don't expect that this is going to come up with us—but maybe it's better that we get this out into the open now."

"Get what out into the open?"

She lifted her chin and looked him dead in the eye. "I don't want to have children."

He leaned toward her, unsure that he heard her correctly. "What?"

"I don't want to have children." She repeated. "Ever."

Didn't want to have kids? It wasn't that he wanted kids right way or anything but truth be told he pictured her being the mother of his kids someday and to hear that she didn't want them—ever----made his heart sink.

"You're serious?"

She shook her head. "Maybe it's better that you know this now, Nick. If being with me depends on you having children some day than maybe you better re-think this."

"Jamey this isn't something that has to be decided on now."

"It already has."

"You really mean this, don't you?"

Her tone softened a bit as she took in the hurt on his face. "I'm sorry, Nick. But I really don't want to have anot..." She stopped dead and cleared her throat. "I don't want to have children." Despite her resolve, she found tears welling up in her eyes.

A horrible thought occurred to him—and when he saw her eyes he felt as though a chunk had been ripped out of his heart. He thought about not saying a word but the slip in_ her_ wording had not been lost on him. "Were you about to say 'another'?" He asked softly.

Abruptly, she threw back her chair and rounded the table. "I can't talk about this...I can't do this..." She mumbled, but he reached out and grabbed her wrist and seized her to him.

"Let me go!" She cried weakly, as he pulled her down into his lap. "I can't do this! I can't do this!"

"Darlin...shhhhhh...it's okay." He held her tightly to him, his arms effectively pinning both of hers to her sides. "Jamey, I'm here. It's okay."

"It's not okay!" She yelled pathetically. "It will never be okay!"

He rocked her back and forth, his mind racing. If she had a child that she had lost it would certainly explain why she was the way she was today. But how? When? And if so, how had she managed to keep it inside for so long?


	21. Overflow

They lay in his bed side by side, facing each other. For an hour she had sobbed and he'd held her trembling body. It was all he could do to not break down and cry right along with her. She'd still not said a word about this baby that she'd lost and he was dreading hearing what had happened. And then she'd begun her story with gut-wrenching detail, breaking his heart once again.

"I had a son." She began slowly. "His name was A.J.----and he was the most beautiful boy----" She looked at him, her lips trembling. "He had the most wonderful brown hair and eyes—and he was so smart----" She trailed off, not wanting to say more, but knowing that she had to let Nick in sooner or later.

"It's okay darlin. Take your time." He took her hand and held it to his lips. "You don't have to say anything until you're ready."

"Danny—that's his father—and I worked together at the Crime Lab in New York. We were together ever since high school so when I got pregnant with A.J. we were happy even though we were young. Our parents were excited."

"And what about Danny? Where is he now? Do you still talk to him?"

"He's still at the lab as far as I know." She answered dully. "I haven't talked to him since I drove to Vegas. It's...it's too painful for both of us. My sister always told me that..."

It struck Nick as odd that she would have a sister, yet she had never mentioned one...or any other family for that matter. "You have a sister?"

"Her name is Tracey. She's...she was...my best friend." She said softly. "When I left New York I couldn't face anyone...and I haven't talked to anyone in my family for a long time."

_That_ he couldn't understand. Nick came from a very large, very close family and he couldn't imagine not speaking to his sisters or his parents. "How long has it been?"

"Since I moved here." She confessed. "It's too hard. I don't want to remember and every time I spoke to anyone from my family all they wanted to talk about was A.J. I couldn't handle it. I ran away because I couldn't handle what had happened to my son. I was a coward and I didn't want to deal with anyone or anything."

"He died, didn't he?" Nick whispered achingly, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He could only imagine the loss that Jamey had felt. He thought back to Lindsay's funeral, remembering how she'd shut down, and realized that she must have been reliving her son's death. "Can you tell me how?"

She shook her head. "I...I...don't talk about this with anyone, Nick. I haven't talked about this for so long...I don't know if I can tell you."

"How old was he? Can you tell me that much?"

She stumbled over her words. "He was three. He died on his third birthday..." She started to cry again, burying her head under his chin. "I can't talk about this anymore, Nick. I'm sorry."

"Whenever you're ready." He said softly. "I'm here for you."

"I know you are." She'd replied. "Thank you for being here."

"There's no where else I'd be." He answered honestly.

Meanwhile...

Sara Sidle and Greg Sanders were at the lab in the break room. She was eating an apple as she flipped through photographs that had been dropped off by the P.D earlier that morning and he was brewing a pot of his famous blue Hawaiian coffee. The two had become close in the past week or so and both had decided that it was best to keep their new relationship a secret, at least until things had gotten back to normal. Neither one of them were particularly good at relationships, but both knew that it was well worth their time to go slowly and see where life took them.

"Where do you think she came from?" Sara asked as she continued to peruse the photos of a young girl, whom she guessed, was in her mid to late twenties—but there was something about this girl that made her uneasy. She was sure that she had seen her before—but where? Brass thought that she was a call-girl and given the area that her body had been found–in the well known red-light district-- it made sense. As of late, Las Vegas was encountering a problem with murdered prostitutes—but Sara wasn't sure that this girl fit the bill.

She winced as she noted the purple bruises that covered most of the girls torso and again as she looked at the deep gashes on the forehead and cheeks that were obviously made with a sharp object. "Whoever killed her certainly didn't like her. She bled out pretty heavily."

Greg lopped over and sat down across from her and grabbed one of the blown up pictures. "I dunno...she couldof come from anywhere I suppose." He pushed his chair back at the sound of the coffee machine beeping and walked over to the counter and poured both of them a cup. "Why do you think she's not from Vegas?"

It was hard to say but Sara had a feeling that this girl wasn't from the Nevada area. She struggled to remember where she had seen this girl before–and completely failed. "She's different...I can't seem to place her but we've definitely seen her before Greg. "

He brought her a cup of steaming brew and placed it in front of her before sitting down again and picking up another one of the pictures. "She's pretty dressed up, wouldn't you say?" He pointed to the silk pantsuit that the girl wore. "This kinda stuff ain't cheep."

Sara frowned. "Yes—it's like she's too...pure to be from around here. She doesn't have the look that most of the girls we find would have...she's too...I don't know...dainty?"

"She looks like one of those beauty pagent girls to me." He commented, tapping his finger against the photo. "Her hair is really healthy and..." he pointed to her long manicured finger nails. "those nails are pretty much perfect...or they were until she broke some of them off , probably fighting her attacker."

Sara looked at him blandly. "How is it that you know so much about women and nails and hair and stuff?" She had never realized exactly how much Greg actually knew about women and was now wondering if she'd misjudged his geeky exterior.

He grinned. 'I dated Ms. Ohio for a while in college." He answered, pleased at the look on her face. Jealousy from Ms. Sidle was something that he'd never seen before..but he had to admit that he almost liked it; It showed him that she really did care about him. "Those girls have to be made up all the time and believe me..."He held up his right hand. "it takes a while to get all that make up on and the hair done right and the nails–but when it's all said and done the end result is magnificent..."

Not wanting to hear any more details, she interrupted hastily. "You dated Ms. Ohio?" She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from commenting any further. He dated a woman who was practically a model for frig sakes, she thought bitterly. How would she ever compete with that?

"Through most of my last year in University. Her name was Caroline Bingham and she..."

"There's just something that's bothering me about this girl..." Sara cut him off, giving him a pointed look. "She has a different look about her..." She trailed off, trying to put into words what she felt inside.

"She looks like that lab tech...what's her name..." He snapped his fingers. "Jodie from Trace...the new girl."

"No Greg–" Sara corrected–finally realizing what had been bothering her all along about their Jane Doe. "She looks like Jamey."

Greg frowned and did a double take. The dead girls face bore a striking resemblance to their colleague. The dark hair and high cheek bones, button nose and tiny mouth was almost a duplicate of Jamey Kent's. Once the resemblance was said out loud it was impossible not to notice how much they looked alike.

"Oh damn..." He whistled and drew in a deep breath. "You're right...it could be her twin..." He consulted the notes on the table. "What color are her eyes?" He asked, when he couldn't find the answer.

Sara looked down, and after shuffling through a neat stack, handed him the sheet.

"Blue." He mumbled. "Sar, this girl has to be related to Jamey. I think we better talk to Grissom."


	22. Decisions

It was Monday morning Warrick Brown knew he had to make good on his decision to walk out of Catherine's life for good– He had lain awake for hours, thinking, declining her offer to share the bed and be together one last night. He knew she was trying to make up for the harsh things she had said. It seemed the angrier he became the less mournful she was and the more strength she had to fight. Oddly enough it was probably the thing she needed the most; to stop lying around crying twenty-four hours a day—----and it was one that was going to end his relationship with the woman he loved and ironically enough she was the only woman he'd ever loved.

And now, he and the child inside her had lost the ultimate battle.

After having a quick shower and opting to forgo the shave, for he didn't care what he looked like, he walked downstairs and began to collect his things and stuff them into an oversized duffle bag he'd got at Wal-mart on his way home. As he picked up small things around the downstairs area he noted that his belongings had grown into quite a collection over the past couple of months. Hell, he'd practically lived with Catherine and Lindsay since their first date.

He swallowed the lump in his throat as he walked down the hall toward the livingroom and stopped at the small decorative table that housed several photographs in sterling silver frames. He lightly ran his fingertip over the smooth surface as he took in a picture of the three of them that had been taken at their favorite restaurant only a month before. Lindsay had been between them with her arms around both of their shoulders. All three were smiling widely. He remembered thinking at that moment that he knew he had to marry Catherine. He even wanted to adopt Lindsay and had planned on asking her permission as soon as Catherine said yes.

He'd never even gotten to ask.

He swallowed a fresh surge of anger as he remembered the awful fight that they had in the early hours of the morning.

_She had told him when he'd returned late that evening that she was going to get the abortion. They'd fought terribly, angrily, harshly and maybe the worst–downright dirty._

_And it killed him inside_.

_He'd left Nick and Jamey angrier than when he'd come. He thought that he and Nick would work through it, like they always did—Nick always had a way of making him think more clearly and Warrick had always valued that about their friendship---and instead he'd been bombarded by their opinions, rather, Jamey's opinions and it made him mad._

_He'd driven around Vegas for a while and got something to eat and even took in a long walk before feeling marginally guilty over the way he'd left his friends, and even guiltier because he was worried about Catherine, and so, he'd returned home. He put his key in the door and turned slowly, hoping to come in undetected. He swung the door open and stepped into the blackened townhouse. A sudden burst of brightness from the small lamp being turned on made him jump._

"_Holy mother...!" He took a deep breath and turned around to look at her sitting on the couch, an accusing look on her face. "Catherine! What the hell are you doing?" _

"_Where have you been?" _

_She'd been waiting up for him. She sat on the couch still clad in her pajamas, hair dirty and eyes blood shot. Damn, she'd been sitting there crying all night again. Silently he cursed himself for being weak and leaving when he knew she needed him the most—but on top of it all he knew that he had every right to react the way he did. There didn't seem to be any right way to go about dealing with her._

_Wearily, he tossed his keys onto the floor as he kicked off his sneakers. "Do you care?" He asked pointedly._

"_You've been gone all day, Warrick!" _

"_I was out." He answered curtly, unable to take the sting out of his own voice. "Does it really matter?" _

"_You are so selfish!" She accused, warming up to what, he knew, was going to be a monumental fight. "I was going out of my mind wondering where you were!"_

"_I thought it was best that we both had some space." He rubbed the stubble on his cheek, heard the scratch. "I needed to cool off and I thought it was best..." _

"_You **thought**?" Her eyes were fiery slits as she tossed him another scathing glare. "You **thought **that it was best? Running out of here so fast that I didn't have any time to even think?" _

"_Ya—I thought." He snapped back. "Obviously **one **of us needed to think over what they had said." He tossed back. "And I thought that person was you." _

"_How dare you!" She yelled, picking up a glass that sat on the coffee table beside her and drained it, then clanked it down loudly on the glass top. "How dare you blame me for this! You know that I can't have this child so why do you have to keep badgering me about it?" _

"_Badgering you? Is that what you think I'm doing?" _

"_You just can't stop, can you?" _

"_Do you love me?" He asked, hands on his hips._

_She looked momentarily stumped. "What does love have to do with it?" _

"_Do you love me?" He asked again. "It's a simple question." _

"_It's not that..." She began._

_His patience had been lost. "Well I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty that I love you...but that doesn't seem to be enough!" He pounded his fist against his thigh. "And I can also tell you –with **one hundred and ten percent **certainty--that if you kill my child that you will never see me again!" _

_She looked down at her hands for a moment. "This is not about love!"_

"_What else could it be about?" He argued. "If you loved me than you would know that you are ripping out my heart and stomping on it." _

_She narrowed her eyes. "Don't be so melodramatic." She snapped meanly. "That has nothing to do with this..." _

"_It has **everything** to do with it–" he cut in . " and if you can't answer me than I know that you don't." _

"_Of course I love you." She admitted. "But love isn't enough here. I've always loved you." She yelled shrilly. "but you can't let this go!" _

"_What else do you think I"m going to do?" he gritted from between clenched teeth. "Say nothing? " He took a step toward her, almost afraid of what he would say, knowing that this was most likely the end of them. "This is my child you're talking about. Our child. And I want it. I don't care if you don't." He pointed at his chest. "**I **do. Just give it to me. I'll raise it myself." _

"_As of next Monday this child won't exist." She said, icily._

_In all his life he'd never wanted to hit a woman. He'd never been the kind of man who had ever lifted a hand to what he considered one of the most precious things on the face of the earth. His grandma had raised him well, but as he stood facing her, not knowing what else to say, he had an almost overwhelming urge to reach out and slap her beautiful face. _

"_You can live with it or you can live without me." Then she was standing up and striding over to him, closing the gap between them, her had raised to strike him and all he could smell was bourbon. _

"_Are you drinking?" He asked, his chest heaving. She didn't have to answer. It was written across her face, her eyes, her very soul. _

"_You're drinking!" He roared, all control gone. _

"_So what! This baby doesn't even exist in my mind!" She screamed back. He grabbed her arm and flung it away and, pushing her aside, strode into the kitchen and saw the empty bottle of bourbon on the counter._

"_Warrick! Don't you dare!" She was behind him cursing a string of obscenities that he was sure he'd never heard before, and closing in fast. "Don't you dump that out!" _

_Ignoring her, and, In an anger that he'd never felt before and hoped that he'd never feel again, he grabbed the smooth bottle and turned around and held it up._

"_I cannot believe that you can do this! You're drunk and you're pregnant! I could kill you with my bare hands!" He screamed, bringing down his arm and smashing the bottle on the black and white checkered tile floor, its contents spilling over the surface, the glass now in tiny, angry bits across the tile._

_Neither one of them spoke. Both stood staring at the other, tears now coursing down both of their cheeks. Just the empty sound of anger, the heaving of labored breaths and the ticking of the clock on the wall. A good two minutes past._

"_I'll get more." She threatened, darkly. "You can't stop me." She was surprised at her own meanness, her own terrible words that she knew in the back of her mind she hadn't even meant them. Fear had a way of making her believe that she had no other choice but to get rid of the child. Fear had taken her captive and she didn't know how she was ever going to be free or even if she wanted to._

"_Maybe you're right about that." He agreed, moving away from her and starting toward the hall. "But I don't have to watch this either. I'm out of here and you can rot in hell." _

_The finality in his tone scared her into instant sobriety and, suddenly, she knew she'd lost him. She had gone too far, drunk too much, and said things that she'd never be able to take back in a million years._

"_I'm sorry..." She started, knowing that she could never walk that line for him again...unless she agreed to go through with the pregnancy...but could she?_

"_And just so we don't end this with any mis-understandings..." He said flatly, as she followed him down the hall. "I love you. " He forced the words out of his mouth even though he didn't want to say them. "And I want this baby and if you change your mind I'll take you back in a second. But until then, or if you have this abortion, you won't be seeing me." _

"_Warrick, just come to bed. You can sleep with me tonight...just one last night." She was crying harshly, while tugging on the back of his shirt. "Just one more night." _

"_I'll take the couch." He said gruffly, leaning away from her grasp. "Goodbye Catherine." _

After he had gathered the rest of his things, he wiped hastily at the beginning of the tears that threatened to fall and headed toward the door knowing that he'd never be here again.

As he turned around to take one last look he pulled her house key off of the ring and tossed it on the floor, knowing that not only was he leaving Catherine and his child, but his heart as well.

And he didn't look back.


	23. Connections

Monday morning...

There was no light in the room, only the pleasant sound of the electric fan humming loudly. Beneath the duvet it was hot, almost smouldering, and he was dreaming again.

_A.J. was running through the back yard, laughing, calling him. "Daddy, catch me, catch me!" It gave him a certain joy to see his son turning from a baby to a full blown toddler; One who spoke in complete sentences and who now had a full mop of dark brown hair, so much like his own and like Jamey's. _

_It was tradition for the Kent family to have some kind of get together at least once a week and it usually was a barbeque. Mike and Sadie, Jamey's parents, had always made him feel like part of the family, always had treated him well. On this day, the entire family, including Jamey's older sister, Tracey, were on the back deck barbequing hamburgers and steak._

"_Go get 'em, daddy." Jamey ordered playfully, as she began to set the patio table for their lunch. "And make sure you wash his hands." She added before going back inside the huge colonial house to get the potato salad._

_Danny had always loved their home; It was close to one-hundred and fifty years old and built by Mike's great-great-great grandfather, which had passed it down from son to son. Not having a son of his own, Michael and Sadie had wanted Danny and Jamey to continue living in it once they were gone. _

_With five bedrooms, a den, living and dining rooms, the white clapboard home with the tall pillars out front was a complete palace to Danny and much different from the house he grew up in. He loved the entryway with it's huge crystal chandelier that, when it was turned on, looked like a thousand diamonds suspended from the ceiling; Loved the huge staircase that, with its elegant wooden balustrade, ran in both directions to the top floor, turning right and left to go to each wing. He'd often imagined A.J. sliding down the long wooden 'slide' and making mischief, when he was older..._

_...He found himself grinning like a fool as he threw down the paper he'd been reading and jumped up to chase his small son around the back yard of his soon-to-be in-laws house. _

_But as he ran, A.J. became smaller and smaller...almost like he was shrinking. "A.J.!" He yelled. "Wait for daddy!" But it was no use, and soon Danny found himself frantic, for the back yard of the Kent's home was now a huge forest. No matter how fast he tried to run, it was never going to be fast enough. Like slow motion, he kept moving forward, looking every which way for the boy, but to no avail._

"_A.J.!" He cupped his hands around his mouth, but startled when Mike grabbed his arm, forcing him to turn around. _

"_Don't you lose my grandson!" He shouted in Danny's face. "What kind of a father are you?" _

_Danny blinked as Mike extended his finger into Danny's face accusingly. "What kind of a man loses his son?" Horrified, Danny turned and kept searching until he felt a tug on the back of his shirt. It was Sadie, her face awash with anger—which was surprising to him, considering that she'd never once taken a harsh tone with him. "How could you let this happen?" "You were never good enough for my daughter!"_

_Next, it was Jamey running beside him. "It's all your fault! All your fault!" Her voice was shrill and her eyes wild. Trying to clear his head, he pressed on until he came to a large pool of water...with his small son's body floating on top—along with another body...a woman's body...but he could not tell who._

_From there on, all he could hear was a siren's mournful wail..._

He woke to the sound of his cell phone ringing incessantly. Immediately annoyed, he rolled over and groped for the bedside table and the offending party on top of it. His heart hammered in his chest as he wiped the sweat from his brow and concentrated on slowing down his breathing before he answered.

"Ya?" He barked.

"Danny?"

He sobered instantly as he recognized the voice, which started his heart pounding again. "Mike?" He felt his mouth go dry and the sting in his eyes. He had always agonized that the day would come that his would-have-been father-in-law would call him to tell him terrible news. Was he calling about Jamey? Had something happened to her? Dear God, don't let her be dead!

Feeling sick to his stomach, and now fully awake, he sat up in the bed and glanced over at the clock. It read 7:30. "Mike?" He asked again, when there was no answer. "Mike, are you okay?"

He hadn't spoken to Michael Kent in almost two years, and, after just dreaming about him, to hear the man's voice on the phone was unnerving and it resurrected a terrible pain in his heart.

The two had been close from day one and had remained that way until A.J.'s death. Danny had always looked up to the elder man, who, with his salt and pepper hair, had looked considerably older than his fifty two years. He was like a father and a best friend rolled into one. The relationship had been too hard to continue after the death of the Kent's only grandchild, and especially harder after Jamey had left town. Every time he'd had to speak to one of them it was like twisting the knife a little deeper. Only Tracey had still kept calling him, hoping that he'd heard from Jamey.

"Ya. It's me." A deep voice answered. "Sorry to call so early, but do you have a minute?" The elder man whom Danny had always considered more of a father than his own natural father, sounded distraught.

"Of course." Danny threw back the covers and swung his legs over the bed, and made his way to the kitchen to get his cigarettes. "What's up?"

"I'm sorry to bother you...I know it's been a while..." He started again. "But I didn't know who else to call."

"Mike...what's wrong?" Danny sat down at the table, his hands trembling, and lit a smoke, exhaling slowly.

"Tracey's missing." He blurted.

Unconsciously, Danny let out the breath that he'd been holding.

Instantly, he felt guilty for feeling relieved that it wasn't news about Jamey and also because of the last conversation he'd had with Tracey that had ended up in what he could only describe as a 'cry fest'. "What?"

"She's not answering her phone...and Sadie hasn't talked to her in almost a week. We're pretty worried, Danny."

He drew in a deep breath and bit down on his lower lip. "How do you know she's just not busy? Or on some kind of vacation?" He had to ask, even though he knew Tracey was not the kind of person to not call or drop by her parents house. He also knew that she visited her parents at least twice a week and called most every day. "Are you sure she didn't meet some guy and she's just busy?"

"No, Danny." Mike's voice was clear and concerned. "She's never done this before." He paused before continuing, his voice deepening. "I know that something's wrong."

Danny closed his eyes and tried to think. After a few seconds he decided to treat the call as he would if he were investigating any other mystery. "Have you been by her apartment?"

"Every day." Mike admitted, fear creeping into his voice. "_Dan_, she's not there."

A stab of sadness ran through him. It had been years since Mike had called him 'Dan'. Funny enough, just hearing it made Danny miss Jamey's family more than he had in a very long time.

"Is her car there?"

"It is." He confirmed. "Listen, can you meet me at that little coffee shop around the corner from your place? Say, in about an hour or so?"

"I...uh..." Danny mumbled. "You should really call the P.D., Mike. I just handle the evidence."

"It would mean a lot to me...to Sadie." Mike said softly. "_Please_, Dan."

_There was that name again._

" I've got no one else to ask."

Danny closed his eyes again. Saw images of Jamey and Tracey dancing before him, and couldn't say no to the man who was once practically his best friend. He'd do this for their family, the family who meant more to him than his own, not realizing that he was about to tread down a path that would change his life forever.

"I'll be there." He promised.


	24. Suffocate

Gil Grissom sat down at his desk. Heavily.

He pushed his glasses up over the bridge of his nose and pinched the skin between his eyes. Was he getting old? Was he wearing himself out? Or more importantly, was he burning himself out by working non-stop—case after case after case, and so on? Even though it was only eleven in the morning, he felt as if he had been awake for days.

Maybe the quart of Jim Beam that he had consumed the night before had something to do with it.

Glancing down at his desk, he picked up a stack of forms that should have been filled out a week ago...and winced. It had almost been a week since Lindsay had died and he knew that no matter how much time passed he would always feel that void. Instead of starting the reports his mind wandered to Catherine and to how she was doing. He'd chickened out and stuck to calling Warrick to see how she was. The emotional part of Gil Grissom had been in hiding so long that he barely knew how to let it come out. He knew that Catherine understood that part of him, but he still felt guilty for not being there for her. If it was any consolation, Warrick had told him, bluntly, that she was not in the mood for visitors and wouldn't be any time soon.

The logical part of him urged him to complete the work that he should have begun days ago, and as usual, that stronger, more immanent part of him won.

He had just finished putting the finishing touches on the first report when a knock sounded at the door. He ignored the sound, hoping that whomever it was would simply go away.

They didn't.

The knocking continued until he finally shouted "Come in!". He did not look up from his papers.

"Mr. Grissom."

He still didn't look up.

"I hope I'm not bothering you..." The man said.

Grissom sighed and looked up sharply...then frowned and dropped his pen on the desk. "What do you want?"

The man, well dressed in a three piece suit, took his hat off and sat down un-invited in the chair across the desk. His blue eyes were watery, his once blond hair, now white, a pale shock that was practically pasted to his forehead from the intense Las Vegas heat.

"I've come to ask you about Catherine." He said simply, as he ran his well manicured fingers down the crease in his pants leg. He crossed one leg over the other, as well mannered gentleman tended to do, and looked pointedly at Grissom.

"How did you get in here?" Grissom asked, just as pointedly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

"I'm a citizen of Las Vegas, Mr. Grissom." He answered. "Just the same as anyone else."

"I doubt that, Mr. Braun." Gil answered evenly. "But what is it that I can do for you?"

Sam leaned back in his chair and looked around the large office before speaking, then leaned forward and tilted his head. "I know that she is close with you and I want to know how she is doing, that's all."

"Why don't you ask her yourself?"

"If I could ask her that do you really think I'd be here talking to _you_?"

"I am beyond trying to understand why you do _anything_ that you do, Mr. Braun." Grissom answered honestly. "But you really should call her yourself."

Braun cleared his throat, understanding the implication. "I was cleared of all charges." He said quietly.

"That's true."

"And the evidence didn't add up, did it?" There was a tiny glint in his eye that said it all. That said he'd gotten away with murder. "I guess you didn't do your job quite as well as you should have." He dug.

"Yes." Gil admitted tightly. "You did get off and you were correct—the evidence was not sufficient enough to put you in jail...but I can assure you that if there had have been you would be in jail for the rest of your life. It had nothing to do with me doing my job correctly...but–" he put his hand up before the elder man could speak. "I'm not going to discuss that with you, not now—not ever, Mr. Braun."

Gil stood up and walked around his desk and over to the door, opening it and standing back, giving the hint. "As for Catherine, if you want to know how she is then you'll have to call her." He motioned to Sam with his hand. "Now, if you'll please see yourself out. I have work to do."

He stood and looked Gil in the eye. "I love her, Mr. Grissom." He said roughly. "I know you can't possibly understand that but I did the best I could by her and by my granddaughter. I'm sorry you don't get that."

"And I'm sorry that you don't get it either." Was Grissom's stoic reply before he shut the door behind him.

CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI

A half an hour and two reports later, he was again interrupted by a knocking on his door. Wondering why he hadn't chosen to hide in the supply closet, for he probably would have never been found in there, and would most likely have had time to finish the reports, he threw his pen down in disgust.

"Come_ in_!" He barked, barely controlling the temper that threatened to erupt from him like a volcano.

"Griss? Are you okay?"

He looked up from his desk and sighed. Sara and Greg stood in the doorway, hesitantly. "I'm fine." He said. "What do you need?"

"Well..." Sara stepped further into the room holding a glossy photo, looking back at Greg, who flashed a tight smile in Gil's direction. "We wanted you to see this picture and tell us who it reminds you of." They'd just opened the case and he had yet to see the photographs of the Jane Doe.

"And you need me to do this–why?" He asked, frowning. Usually Sara and Greg were a very capable team and didn't need to ask him to look over anything. He had always been confidant in their ability and today...today...just wasn't his day.

"Just take a look, Gris." Greg said quietly, reaching over from Sara and bringing the blown-up photo for him to look at. "And see for yourself." He added.

Grissom picked up the photo and within seconds set it back down on the desk, looking up at his two subordinates.

He raised his eyebrows quizzically.

"Do you see what we see?" Asked Sara carefully.

"I think that we had better call Ms. Kent." Was his reply. Greg retrieved the photo and he and Sara walked to the door. "And guys?" He called after them.

Both turned expectantly. "Ya, Griss?"

"Tell her to come in right away."

CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI

Danny stepped into the coffee shop nervously and spotted Mike Kent instantly. He was dressed in a red polo shirt and a pair of jeans, his hair still cut military style. He looked much older than he remembered, and obviously, very shaken. He stood as Danny made his way over and immediately gave him a big hug. Uncomfortable, was all he could feel. It had been so long, and so many things had happened to tear them apart, but even in his current state, hugging the man made him feel like home. Danny had never been close to his own family, his father especially, and had never felt more like crying as he did right then.

"Thanks for coming, Dan." He squeezed tighter for a moment before releasing him and holding him at arms length. "You look good." He said softly, studying Danny's features. "A little tired." He decided. "But good."

Danny swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. " Ya...well...this is as good as it gets I guess."

"Please, sit." Mike gestured.

He sat...and fought the overwhelming nostalgic feelings that threatened to consume him. Mike still wore the same cologne and just smelling it brought Danny back to a time that was too hard to remember.

_Suck it up, Messer...You're helping out an old friend...don't start cryin like some big baby..._

"Thanks for coming on such short notice. I really appreciate it."

"Don't worry about it." Was all he could reply. He was thinking back to the last time he had seen Mike and Sadie. It had to have been the day after Jamey had left—left it up all up to him to tell her parents that she was moving the hell away from the only home she'd ever known. Truth be told, he was still angry at her for making him responsible for breaking her parent's hearts—again. Although to give her credit he'd been unfaithful and to his knowledge she'd never let on to anyone else. It made him feel sick inside, even after all of that time, to even think that they would someday know that it was all his fault–the whole thing–A.J.'s death, Jamey's leaving.

"...and we were thinking that maybe you could put in a call..." Mike was saying. When it became obvious that he wasn't listening, Mike stopped talking and reached over, covering Danny's hand with his own. "...Danny? Are you alright?"

Feeling the warmth—Mike was always a toucher--Danny shook his head to clear his thoughts as the red-haired waitress brought him his coffee, and, after taking a sip, began to talk as if Mike hadn't even spoken. "So, she's been gone a week and no one has heard from her."

"That's right—and you know, Danny, she's never done anything like that before." Mike implored. "She's just not like that."

"Okay..." Danny considered what he should ask next. He sipped his coffee. "So, you tried going over and the car's still there. She's not been at work?"

"No. Her friend from work...I think her name was Candace...no...Candra...she called to ask us if we'd heard from her because she'd missed two days of work in a row. No one has heard from her."

"Did you file a missing person's report?"

Mike shook his head. "Not yet. We wanted to talk to you first...and quite frankly, we hoped that she would show up."

"But it's been a week..." He protested. "How could you not call the police?" He tried to make his tone un-accusing and friendly, but it was hard. How could they not call?

"We wanted to be sure..."

"And you were waiting to talk to me?" He snapped, leaning forward. "Mike, do you know how much time has already been wasted? You should have called me days ago!"

There was a heavy sigh as Mike shook his head and his brown eyes filled with tears, making Danny wish he were anywhere else but there. "I know...I know. What you're saying is true...but we're scared to death here." Hastily, he reached up to wipe at his eyes._ "_After losing A.J. and Jamey both..." He looked up and ignored the stricken look on Danny's face. "I just don't think that Sadie could deal with losing Tracey too...It's selfish you know..." He continued. "Me asking you here today...but I wanted to see you. We miss you. All of you. And it's hard to stop thinking of you as our son-in-law."

Dammit, he hadn't known that it would be this hard. Hadn't known that seeing the man would make him feel like he'd been kicked in the gut and worst of all, he hadn't known that hearing those words would make him feel so guilty.

_Traitor...coward...killer _

He studied the red and white checkered tablecloth to keep himself from crying and blurting out that he didn't deserve to be loved like that. Not after what he'd done–and he'd done plenty enough in his lifetime to go to hell. He clenched his jaw and blinked back the beginning of his tears.

"Do you hear from her?"

He looked up, stricken. "What?"

"From Jamey—has she called you?" He asked hopefully.

"No." Danny's tone was clipped.

"Is she still in Las Vegas at that crime lab?"

He coughed–suddenly his throat was constricting, as was his heart, then cleared his throat. "I can't do this." He said quietly.

"What?" Mike leaned forward, a puzzled look on his face. "What do you mean?"

"I can't talk about Jamey and A.J. with you." He muttered. "I just can't do it, Mike. I'm sorry." He stood up and grabbed a fist full of dollar bills, not bothering to count and dropped them on the table. "I'll talk to my boss about Tracey and we'll start a report right away. I'll call you as soon as I find anything out."

Recognizing the pain that Danny was in, because he was in the same pain each and every day of his life, Mike decided to let it go. Obviously the boy was hurt so deeply even the mention of the two loves of his life and he completely shut down.

"Danny?" He called.

He stopped and turned. "Ya?"

"Thank you."

"It's the least I could do."

He turned on his heal and walked briskly to the front door of the coffee shop and stepped out into the morning air.

And still felt like he was suffocating.


	25. Realize

Monday–the last day that Nick and Jamey would spend together before going back to work the next evening for the grave yard shift. He rummaged through the cupboards looking for pancake mix as he waiting for the morning coffee to be ready.

They had slept late—considering that they had spent most of the night talking. Even though the topics that they had discussed—her son, his molestation as a child, both of their worst fears and nightmares–he felt confidant that he was breaking through that barrier. She'd disclosed more information to him in the last week alone than in the year and a half that they'd been friends. Even though she still wouldn't tell him how her boy had died, he knew that it was only a matter of time. He knew that she blamed herself for it, knew that she still dreamed about it, but he was going to save her–as was his cowboy way. He had always had a soft spot for women and children and he was the type of man who wanted to save everybody from the worst in themselves—and he would never change.

It was now lunch time and even though pancakes were traditionally a breakfast food he decided to make them anyway. He got the batter mixed, took out the eggs and butter, syrup and, as an afterthought, took out some pre-mixed whip cream and fresh strawberries to put on the side. Nick Stokes paid attention to everything he did and he always, always did things to the very best of his ability, and it showed in simple everyday things. His attention to detail and all that went along with it was part of what Jamey Kent loved about him the most.

As he was in the middle of cracking the eggs, the phone rang. "Damn." He muttered, dropping the egg in the batter. He wiped his hand on a dish cloth and grabbed the portable off of the wall.

"Hello?"

"Nick?" It was Greg.

"You got 'em." Nick answered in his easy drawl as he walked back to the counter and picked the egg shell out of the batter and tossed it in the garbage. "What's up Greggo?"

Foregoing the explanation, Greg simply asked. "Can I talk to Jamey?"

"I think she's in the shower...Just a sec. I'll see if I can get her for you."

"Thanks man."

"Uh...Greg?"

"Hmmm?"

"Is something wrong?"

Greg coughed. "Ahhh...why do you think something's wrong?"

"You just sound...I don't know...weird or something."

"Nope." He said quickly. "Ahhhh...but I really do need to talk to Jamey."

"Sure. Just a sec." Nick set the phone down and frowned. Greg seemed nervous. Something was up.

He walked down the hall and knocked on the bathroom door. "Jamey—" He waited to see if she'd answer. He heard the hair dryer start then stop.

"What? Are you calling me?"

"Phone's for you." He called.

"Just a sec!" He heard her moving around in the bathroom putting things away. A few seconds later she opened the door and let out a pile of steam with it and emerged, her dark hair wrapped in a towel, wearing nothing but his Dallas Cowboys t-shirt.

_Have mercy._

"Who is it?"

"The lab." He answered, a slight smirk on his face. Just seeing her made his mouth go dry and he let her know it by reaching his arms around her waist and letting them cup her backside. "Stop." She giggled, and made a face at him.

He backed away, his hands up in the air. "Sorry darlin..but I cannot help the way you make me feel." He grinned as he backed up toward the kitchen.

"Randy."

His eyebrows shot up. "Did you just call me buy another man's name?"

"No...dork...randy means aroused...seriously, you need to read the dictionary."

He rolled his eyes. "Are you gonna take that call now?"

She grinned back. "Are you gonna finish making me breakfast?"

"You betcha, pretty lady."

She stifled a laugh and shook her head as she brought the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

"Jamey? It's Greg."

"Hi Greg."

"Um...Grissom wants you to come in."

"Now?" She sat down at the kitchen table and tucked her legs beneath her. Her surprised tone turned Nick around to watch her. She shrugged, indicating she knew nothing. "But we're not due back until tomorrow."

"I know. But he needs you to look at something." The spiky haired lab tec turned field agent sounded nervous.

"Is something wrong?"

Greg sighed. "Can you just come in? Like now?"

"I guess so." She answered. "Give me an hour."

"Thanks. See you then."

She hung up and looked at Nick in puzzlement. "He wants me to come in."

"You should have said no." Nick responded, pouring the batter onto the griddle.

"Feeling a little put out are we?" She teased, getting up from the table and wrapping her arms around his waist from behind. He leaned back a bit, his posture relaxing at her touch. He was put out. Very much so. And she understood why; It was the last day that they'd have together, last full day and he didn't want to share it.

Oh how she loved the smell of him, the very feel of him; She ran her hands up over his bare chest and down again to the waistband of his boxers. He almost shuddered. It was amazing to her the sexual pull that she had over him and he over her; If she was a magnet he was steel and there was no stopping that attraction. When his strong arms were wrapped around her was a security that she hadn't known for so long. She now realized how much she had shut herself off from the rest of the world; how closed she was. And it made some of that hurt dissipate when she was with him. Made her feel like a woman again and she hadn't felt like one for so long it was a wonder that she remembered at all.

"I just think that it could have waited until tomorrow, is all." He responded, setting the bowl down on the counter and turning so he could face her. She wound her arms around his neck and his hands gripped her hips and brown eyes clung to green. A connection, they both realized, that could not be ignored any longer.

"These last few days have been like magic, Jame." He sighed, looked up at the ceiling and shook his head slightly. "I'm not prone to confessions such as these." He said "But I'm almost afraid that once we leave here and go back to work that this will all have been a dream."

"Do you really think that we could go back to being friends after this?" She asked softly, her heart lacing with dread at even the thought of it. She had just begun to heal, to live, and it was all thanks to him—she had no intention of going back to friends. "I think that would be pretty hard and almost downright impossible." To illustrate her point she moved in closer, never taking her eyes off of his, and ground her hips against him. Pleased her when it was mere seconds before she felt the hardness beneath. "Do you think that is just gonna go away?"

He looked down at her, his eyes a wave of lust and emotion and his voice gravelly when he spoke. "Not in this lifetime, darlin." He said simply. He felt almost primal toward her; She was his and they belonged together, whether or not she was ready to hear it. The physical connection that they shared was more intense than any other he'd ever had, but the emotional one...that was something that had far surpassed his wildest imagination . The two combined made a pretty package, one that he intended to keep for the rest of his life.

And, as they ate their breakfast, both were quiet but content. Each thinking about the bond that they shared. He, wondering how long it would take for him to knock down her guard, and she, how long she could keep holding back.

It seemed to be a losing battle either way.


	26. One Way Ticket

Danny took a deep breath and turned the key in the lock, praying that he'd have the strength to make it through the next couple of hours without having a panic attack. Much to his dismay– it wasn't his choice since the order had come directly from Mac Taylor--- Lindsay Monroe followed close at his heels. They entered apartment number six.

Lindsay wrinkled her nose. "She's got a cat."

"Wow–I got a real Nancy Drew for a partner." He grumbled, moving inside further.

He infuriated her—the caustic, rude tone of his voice. The way that he rolled his eyes at just about everything she said—and it was starting to made her more than a little angry. "I was just saying..." She began.

"So?"

"Do you not smell that?" She asked, holding her hand over her nose.

"Don't worry about it." He snapped.

Tracey Kent had been missing for one week. No phone calls, no emails, no contact to her, now, panic stricken family. She had seemingly vanished into thin air; Her car was still parked in the lot outside her building, her clothes still in her closet and what was left of her chicken dinner sat on the kitchen table, now a crusty dried up mess.

The one bedroom apartment was not a bad size and was quite homey looking. Tracey had always had a great knack for decorating and it showed; Every piece of furniture was made of maple; The tv stand, the large square cut coffee table, end tables, and even the kitchen table with its matching chairs and matching hutch–which matched the honey colored hardwood floors to perfection. A pretty green and brown throw rug sat in the middle making the room seem cozy and inviting. Danny and Jamey had spent many nights here playing board games, drinking wine, watching movies. He blinked and fought the urge to throw up as he set his kit on the floor and looked around.

The walls were a pretty green with white trim along the baseboards. The lovely pastel color made the room look cool and refreshing along with the various throw pillows and pastel colored prints that were hung on the walls. Magazines were stacked in a neat pile on the coffee table and on the end tables. Vogue. Elle. Redbook.

Her pet cat, Otis, wound his thin body around Danny's leg, hungry and lonely for Tracey. The orange tabby let out a loud meeeaaaawwwww in protest when Danny shooed him away. "I hear ya fella." He mumbled as the cat butted his head against his leg again looking for attention. The smell of cat urine filled his nostrils as he went directly to the closet–where he knew she kept the litter–and started to pull out the bag.

"What are you doing?"

He turned and looked at his partner, annoyed. "What does it look like? He's been in here a week without his litter changed...he needs new stuff, Monroe."

Her eyes widened. "You can't do that. You could contaminate the evidence."

He rolled his eyes and ground his teeth together. The woman really got under his skin. "Look, Montana—I don't need you to tell me what to do. I'm gonna change the litter–that's it and maybe give him some food." He turned his back to her. "Besides this isn't on the record yet."

"What do you mean?" This was news to her. All she knew was that she had been called in on her day off—again—and that they were supposed to be investigating a missing woman.

"This is just a favor. That's all."

"But..."

He turned around, clearly not having time for small talk. "Just take pictures of everything."

She opened her mouth but he silenced her with his angry glare. She turned her head away. "Looks like he's had plenty to eat." She nodded toward the floor mat beside the stove. An entire bag of food had been dumped into a huge bowl, the empty bag still sitting beside it. Danny turned and looked, then frowned. "It doesn't make sense." He set the litter bag on the floor and walked over and picked up the empty bag. "She fed him before she left."

"Or somebody else did." Lindsay murmured, taking out her camera and taking a picture–as she had been told. "What exactly are we looking for here?" She asked as she snapped shots of the kitchen and livingroom.

"Evidence that someone took her against her will." He answered dully, as he dumped the rank contents of the box into a garbage can and filled it with clean litter. "Here Otis." He said softly, rubbing the cats head.

She stopped and turned around. "You know his name?"

"So?"

"Do you know this woman?"

He clicked his tongue. "Ya. I know her."

"How?"

"Does it matter?" He answered stiffly. He walked over to his kit and took out his own camera and walked into the bedroom. She followed. The room, as bedrooms went, was quite large and, no surprise, decorated tastefully, much the same as Lindsay's own bedroom was. The queen sized bed was made of maple, no surprise again, and topped with a white comforter etched in elegant white lace. Throw pillows of various colors and sizes were everywhere. The matching dresser was a highboy with a tall mirror attached, housing pictures of what she assumed were friends and family. She walked over and looked at a particular one of Tracey Kent and a small boy with a mop of dark hair. They were both smiling widly.

She heard him sigh and turned to look at him.

She watched him walk directly over to the bedside table and pick up a photo of the same small boy, gently rubbing his thumb over the face, then set it down again. His shoulders seemed to sag in defeat. She caught the look of despair on his face out of the corner of her eye and it made her wonder.

"Does she have a child?" She asked quietly.

"What?" He whirled around, his eyes wide. "What did you say?"

Not understanding the sound of his voice, or why she had upset him—again—she pointed to the photo that he had set down and then to the pictures along the mirror. "Does she have a son?"

She could have sworn his eyes filled with tears as he glanced at the mirror...but she couldn't be sure...and before she could give it any more thought h e cleared his throat and shook his head. "Can you not just take the damn pictures, Monroe?" He snapped nastily.

Hurt, she narrowed her eyes at him and put her hands on her hips—and she had had enough. "What is your problem, Messer?" Her tone was cold and her words like ice. "I just asked a question."

"The only problem I have is the fact that you keep bombarding me with stupid questions." He dismissed her with a shake of his head and took some photos.

"It wasn't a stupid question." She snapped back, standing her ground. "I'm doing my job."

He knew he was being rude, and, not trusting himself to speak the truth, he swallowed hard, trying to get a grip on his own emotions—but it was hard. Everything about the situation was hard on him. Seeing the apartment, looking at her things, seeing pictures of A.J.—it was all threatening and it was taking him to a place that he didn't want to be. In answer to her question, because he knew she had every right, he sat down on the bed and ran his hands through his short hair, surprising her.

"That boy isn't her son." He said softly. "He's—he was—he nephew."

"Ohhhhh.." She sighed, somehow knowing that Danny was more connected to the boy than he let on—then she remembered the park a few days before—the way he had thrown up at the sight of the dead boy—and again, it made her wonder. "He's...he's dead?"

He nodded. "He drowned." His voice was barely a whisper.

Just like the boy at Central Park...

"You knew him, didn't you?"

He nodded again. "I did." He stood up and cleared his throat again and wiped his hand across his forehead, which had broken into a sweat. "Listen, I'm sorry about the way I acted..." He began hesitantly, not looking at her, but at the carpet beneath his feet. "This is hard for me. I've known Tracey for a long time and I'm worried about her."

"Are you okay?" She asked, sorry that she had gotten him so worked up. He didn't look like he could handle it.

"I'm fine, Montana. Let's just see what we can find." He said briskly. He walked past her and into the hall.

"Alright then..." She called after him. She began to do a thorough search of the room, opening drawers and looking the closet to see if she could find anything. The closet was filled to the brim with expensive pantsuits and skirts, blouses and shoes. The woman loved shoes, Lindsay noted with a hint of jealousy. She shone her flashlight into the back, not finding anything.

A few minutes later Danny called her name. She got up, brushed off her knees and went in search of him. She found him in the den, which had been converted into some kind of an office. He held out a white piece of paper. "You got something?"

"You tell me."

She took it from his shaky hand and read.: _Las Vegas. 10:30 JFK. Julia._

"You think she just got up and left?"

He nodded. "I think she went to meet someone. Although I don't know why she wouldn't tell Mike or Sadie."

"Who are they?"

"Her parents."

She glanced up. "What do you think it means?"

"I think she went to Vegas." He answered quietly. He gestured to her laptop that was open on her desk. "I checked out the computer and the last page open was her bank acct. One week ago she..." He pointed to the screen.

"Tok out three thousand dollars. There was also an email from some guy named Preston Grey, confirming that he would meet her on the tenth." He gathered up the laptop and tucked it under his arm.

"So what now?" She asked.

He looked up at her, his eyes small and determined. "I guess I'm going to Vegas."


	27. A Time To Weep

_There are times of happiness, times of grief, times of complete sorrow: None of those times can be predicted...and they say that time is all we have..._

It was almost two in the afternoon when Jamey pulled the car into the parking lot. After eating breakfast she and Nick had wound back up in the bedroom—his boxer shorts and the t-shirt that she had been wearing had ended up on the floor of the hall as they'd made their way to his bed–now his _and_ hers.

"_Share a room with me." He'd suggested as they lay entwined together. _

"_Isn't that what we've been doing the last few days, cowboy?" _

_He'd leaned down and kissed her again–the kind of kiss that started at the top of her scalp and ran blood-thirsty down to the tips of her toes. "I mean, move your stuff in here. Let's make this our room. We already live together." He twirled a strand of her dark hair between his fingers. " I don't want to sleep without you, Jame." _

"_Are you serious?" _

"_As a heart attack." He'd drawled, his thumb tracing gently along her cheek._

"_Are you sure you want to give up your space? Want me decorating this room with my own tastes?" _

_He grinned, making her stomach tie up in knots. "I love your taste, darlin and you can do whatever you want to this room as long as I get to sleep with you at night."_

"_What'll we do with the other bedroom?" _

"_Make it a spare room if you want." He'd suggested. "Or an at home office...or...wait...wait..." He waggled his eyebrows at her, his eyes twinkling. "We could turn it into a games room...maybe get a pool table or a card table..." _

_She snorted. "And turn this into a bachelor pad and have all the lab guys here day and night? I don't think so. I like the spare room idea though." _

"_So—" He pressed. "What do you say, little lady? Will you move in with me?" _

_She surprised him, and most of all herself, when she'd wrapped her arms around his neck and lifted her head for another mind-numbing kiss, and whispered. "I'd love to." _

_And so, it was decided._

Not even the fact that she was excited about the new development with her relationship with Nick could stop her from being panicked about being called in to the lab. Nervously, she checked her hair in the rearview mirror, applied her lip gloss and opened the door. She stepped out into the heat, glad that she had chosen to wear a thin green tank top and a cool cotton skirt. It wasn't the most professional outfit she admitted to herself, but she did keep a change of clothes in the trunk if she needed them.

In the almost two years she had been working with Gil Grissom he had never once called her in on a day off. She wondered if she had done something wrong with one of her cases. She bit the inside of her cheek as she walked along, her nerves twanging. Or maybe he had heard, somehow, about her and Nick. She knew he frowned on inner-departmental dating...but how would he even know? It was only a few days before that she and Nick had made love...there was no way he knew.

She pulled back the heavy glass door and was immediately grateful for the blast of cool air from the conditioning unit. She passed the reception desk and said hello to the tiny red-haired woman named Alice. About halfway down the hall she saw Sara Sidle step out of Grissom's office, holding a blown up photo in one hand, an apple in the other and a frown on her face. She nodded to Jamey as she approached.

"Hey Sara."

The other woman flashed her a quick, almost forced smile. "He's waiting for you." She said by way of greeting, not stopping. She continued on down the hall and into the lab. "See you in a few." She added from the doorway.

"I guess so." She gave a cursory knock on the door and waited.

"Come in."

Jamey stuck her head around the door and gave a polite smile. "Griss? You wanted to see me?"

He took off his glasses and set them down on the desk, motioning her inside with his hand. "Come in Miss Kent. Sorry to call you in but I had little choice."

She sat down across from him and folded her hands in her lap, bit down on her lip. She glanced around the cluttered office, her gaze landing on the huge fish tank in the corner. She'd always loved fish, loved the peacefulness about them. The way they floated from one spot to the next without a care in the world. In any other situation the lazy hum of the tank would have lulled her into peacefulness...but not today.

"Are you going to tell me why?" She asked. He raised his eyebrows. "I'm here, I mean...why you called me in?"

He nodded and clasped his hands together. "We opened a new case today. Jane Doe, approximately thirty years of age. Found in the red light district."

"Okay..."

"She doesn't fit the profile of a hooker. Not even a high-end hooker." He continued, glancing down at his desk.

"Um, hum..." She waited for him to speak again.

"It was a blunt force trauma to the back of the head that did it. She bled out in a matter of seconds. Greg and Sara both think that she was dumped, which also leads us to believe that she was no call girl at all."

"And you need me to work it?" She asked, not understanding.

"Not exactly." He answered. "But we do need your help."

"Mine?" She shook her head and smiled vaguely. "But why?" Part of her wondered if she had been chosen for the promotion that the whole lab had been buzzing about.

He sighed and cleared his throat. "We think that you may be able to identify her."

"Me?"

"Yes."

"Why me?"

"We just think that you could help. Do you mind looking at a photo?"

"Is this about that rape case from a while back? The one that Warrick and I closed?"

"No. We don't think that this girl was from the Nevada area."

"What makes you think that?"

"Do you know anyone who went to N.Y.U.?"

"Quite a few people...why?"

"We think this girl was from New York originally."

She wasn't trying to be redundant, but she couldn't help asking again, this time a little more forcefully. "WHY?"

"She has a tattoo that would suggest so."

A surge of adrenaline coursed through her veins...the rush of fear. The hair on the back of her neck stood up and her heart hammered in her chest. "Why would I know?" Her voice was dangerously low, scared. "Do you think she was connected to one of my old cases in New York?"

"We're not sure." He admitted. "But I have to tell you that this won't be easy, Miss Kent. If Sara and Greg are right, then it will be bad news for you and your family."

What did he know that she didn't? She sat up straighter.

"You're scaring me." She said, point blank, not bating an eye. "What about my family?"

"That is not my intention." He said, sliding a picture across the desk towards her. "But there is a Jane Doe that was murdered last night and I think that you know who she is."

Not wanting to pick up the photo...but not being able to _not_ look, she picked it up and took a deep breath. Grissom watched her intently. She took one look and burst into tears. Deep, harsh sobs that reminded him of what he had just lost in Lindsay Willows. A fresh surge of pain sliced through his heart as he watched Jamey.

"Oh...oh...nooooo." She cried out. "Oh...this can't be happening...God, please don't do this to me again..." The hair was longer than she'd ever seen it, the delicate scar on her temple barely visible from where Jamey had hit her with an icicle one winter when they were children. Full lips, now turned a pale blue. Once tanned healthy skin, now a chalky, deathly white.

"Not you." She whispered. "I never thought it would be you."

A thousand childhood memories clouded her brain. Ice cream. Swimming at the community pool. Vacations at Disneyland. Walking through the woods in the fall, dressed in white knit sweaters, the dry leaves crackling beneath their feet. First love, boy-girl parties, summer camp...

Miss Kent? "He cleared his throat, put his glasses back on, a glimmer of sympathy in his eyes. "Miss Kent?"

She nodded weakly and reached up to wipe her eyes, before tracing the face with her index finger.

"Who is she?"

Abruptly, she stood and rounded his desk and emptied the contents of her stomach in the garbage can. "Oh God, how could you do this to me again?" She wailed in between heaves.

Grissom stood and grabbed a box of kleenex from a nearby shelf and stooped down beside her. Uncertain of what to do, as he was never good in situations dealing with the human emotion, he awkwardly handed her a fistful of tissue. "Miss Kent? Who is she?"

"Julia." She answered, as if in a trance. "My cousin."


	28. Go Where?

"You want to go _where_?"

"Las Vegas. It'll only be for a couple of days." He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, nervous as hell. "I have enough vacation picked up if that's what you're worried about."

Vacation time accrued was the last thing that mattered to the senior C.S.I. Mac Taylor stuffed his hands inside his pants pockets and shrugged his shoulders. "Are you sure this is a good idea Danny?" He looked carefully at his young protegee, wondering what was behind the request. "Do you think you're going to find her based on a note?" He asked gently, pointedly.

"It's worth a try, Mac. Mike and Sadie are goin outta their minds here. He asked me for a favor. Lindsay and I have already been to the apartment and checked it out. She's gone and I know where she is."

"Las Vegas isn't small." Mac mused. "You'll need a lot more to go on."

Danny sighed and gave Mac a knowing look. "What else can I do?"

"You should be leaving it up to Michael Kent."

"He doesn't know what to do!"

Mac considered. "It's really a case for Las Vegas P.D., don't you think?"

"I hadn't really thought about it."

"Maybe you should." Since the death of his son and the breakdown in his relationship, Mac knew that Danny was barely holding it together. Granted, he'd quit the drinking thanks to Aiden Burne. And yes, he'd known about the affair between the partners as well. It hadn't been too hard to figure out and even though Mac had never let on that he knew, he'd known all the same. "This is going to be very hard on you." He pointed out, knowing full well that in the back of Danny's mind he was most likely thinking about Jamey.

"Look, I've already got the plane ticket!"

Mac wanted to reason with Danny, to plead for him not to go, but he knew that there was little he could do. "Do you realize how hard this could be on you emotionally?"

Danny groaned and rubbed the stubble on his chin. "I _know _that. Tracey was one of the closest people in the world to me—and I can't say no to Mike. Not now. I've got to try and find her, Mac." He held his hands out. "Can't you understand that?"

"What about Jamey?" He asked quietly. "Are you hoping to find her as well?"

Danny recoiled as if he'd been slapped. Hurt and temper rushed to the surface quickly, eyes flashing. "This isn't about Jamey." He gritted out between clenched teeth. ''But thanks for throwing her in my face." He spat, barely containing his anger toward his boss.

"Are you sure? Because this has everything to do with her family, Danny." Mac held out an arm toward the younger man. "I'm going to be completely honest with you and tell you what I think as a friend, not a superior."

"I don't need a lecture, Mac."

"I think you do."

Mac gently grabbed Danny by the elbow and almost forcefully, directed him into his office where they could talk in private. The large room was bright and spacious, windows making up the entire back wall. It had a magnificent view of the downtown, the huge buildings, the sky. Although it was simply furbished Danny, or any other employee, had never felt uncomfortable there. It was almost homey, with its dark pine desk and matching brown wing-backed chairs, the colored prints on the wall, the dark brown throw rug and the two large pine book cases that were filled to capacity with different forensic books. All it needed, in Danny's opinion, was a fireplace and then Mac would never even have to go home. He spent most of his time at work anyway.

Danny sat, unamused, angry and sullen, looking out the window as Mac sat down behind his own desk and folded his hands.

"I'm not trying to open old wounds and I'm not trying to hurt you. God knows I understand loss and you've had a lot of loss in the last couple of years. But I have to say that I don't think this is a good idea."

That got his attention. He didn't care if Mac thought it was a good idea or not. He wasn't exactly asking permission. Hell, he had over three weeks vacation due him, and then some. Only out of respect was he sitting here in the first place—but that didn't mean he had to like it. Danny leaned forward, his eyes mere slits. "Why?" He challenged. "Why the hell not?"

"Because I think that in the back of your mind you hope you'll find Jamey while you're there." He said slowly. "And that she'll change her mind and come back to New York with you."

"What? How can you say that? It's been almost two friggin years since she left me!"

"And every day since she left I've noticed how different you are."

"How could I not be different?" He practically shouted. He shook his head and bit down on his lip, his nostrils flaring. "She walked out on me! After my son died—and she blamed me for his death—She's gone and she's not coming back. I'm not stupid enough to think that she'll _ever_ come back to me. But that's my problem, not yours." He leaned forward and tapped his index finger on the top of the desk. "You tell me how I should be acting. You of all people. You walk around like a different person. You don't let anyone get close to you." He accused. "So don't tell me how I should feel."

Despite his intention to stay neutral, to not bring anything personal of his own life into the conversation, Mac felt the familiar sting that came every time he thought about Clare, and Danny's comment was dirty and below the belt----but Mac knew that he was only saying so because he was backed into a corner–so he chose to ignore it.

"You're probably right." He conceded. "When Clare died I became a different person and I don't have a right to tell you how to live your life. I just don't want to see you get hurt."

Danny lowered his head and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for." He looked up at Mac, tears in his eyes making it hard to see. "I have to do this for them, Mac. Please understand. I've gotta do this and I probably won't even see Jamey when I'm there. I"ll stick to the sidelines." He reached up and wiped at his eyes, embarrassed. "Maybe I can undo some of the damage I've done in the past."

"Done? Danny, none of what happened to A.J. was your fault." Mac snapped, furious that Danny was still blaming himself for what had happened. "You know that, right?"

"Ya. My kid drowned in the pool on his third birthday and it wasn't my fault."

Mac sighed and plowed his hand through his short hair. " Danny, it was an accident. You _know_ that. When that little girl fell through the trampoline and broke her arm you were trying to help her. You_ all _were."

"I think back on that moment _every_ single second of my life. If she hadn't fell through, if we had been watching A.J., if she had of fallen ten minutes later or earlier, my son would still be with me. Jamey would still be with me." Danny raged, frustrated with years of blame still lying on his shoulders. "She still blamed me."

"Did she ever say that?"

"No...but she did. She didn't speak to me for months, Mac. I know she blamed me."

"This was not your fault." He said again. "But the price was high."

"And my son paid that price, didn't he?" Danny asked bitterly. "He paid with his life for that mistake."

Mac winced, knowing that it was true. "You have to find a way to put it behind you. Jamey ran, though I doubt that it helped her. It was too hard on the pair of you to stay together after that...it's understandable...but you're going to have to find a way to move on."

"Sure. Whatever." Danny stood, tired of the talking, of the deep ache that came up every time he thought about that fateful day, and shoved his hands in his pockets. "So...do I get the time or not?"

Mac nodded. "You've got a week. Then I expect you back here."

" Thanks, boss."

"And Danny?"

He turned.

"Be careful, understand?"

"You got it."


	29. Save Me

Nick leaned back and stretched his arms over his head, then crossed them over his chest. Even though the building was air conditioned, he was sweating through the black t-shirt he wore and could feel the sweat on the legs of his blue jeans.

He'd been waiting for what seemed like hours and he was starting to become paranoid. All he knew was that a cousin of Jamey's had been found in Vegas–murdered—It angered him, considering that he'd not known she'd had family in the area—not that it should have surprised him any---, but she had taken it so hard that Grissom had Greg take her for a off-the-record psyc consult—and Nick wasn't to see her until he was told otherwise.

The ugly orange plastic chair in the hospital hallway was the most uncomfortable contraption he'd ever sat on, and even though he'd only been waiting about a half hour it seemed like an eternity. He wanted to see Jamey. _Needed_ to see her—even if he was hurt by her reluctance to trust him still.

It didn't help any that Sanders, who was sitting beside him, kept up a constant stream of unnecessary questions.

"Did you see the picture of the vic?"

Nick looked over blankly. "What?"

Greg leaned closer and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. "Did you see the picture of Julia Kent?"

Rolling his eyes, Nick sighed. "No, I didn't. I came strait here, remember."

"She looked exactly like Jamey, man." The younger C.S.I. revealed. "Just like her. It was freaky."

Not wanting to think about that subject or even hear about it, Nick shook his head. "Don't go there."

"Why not? She looked exactly like her...even the hair.."

"Shut up, Greg!" Nick snapped. "I don't care."

That slowed him down–for about two seconds.

Shifting in his chair, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, which jiggled up and down impatiently. "I wonder what her cousin was doing here." Greg mused. "Why wouldn't Jamey have told us?"

"She never told anyone anything, Greg. You know that." Nick growled. "Don't ask me, man. Jamey didn't tell _me_ she had family here."

Greg's eyebrows shot up. "Not even you?"

"No." He stood up and ran his hands through his hair. "Not even me."

Catherine Willows stood in the middle of her kitchen, her hair freshly washed for the first time in over a week, wearing clean jeans and a white tank top, and a full bottle of bourbon in her hand. It looked tempting, it's dark liquid seemingly begging for her to just open the cap and take a sip—and let it all go away.

Just one sip.

_But you're pregnant. _

_Not for long._

She traced her thumb along the paper label, remembering how many nights she'd drank herself into oblivion after Eddie had left and even before he'd left. Lots of times they had drank together—and paid the price. Eddie never could hold his liquor or his tongue, for that matter and every time they drank together something bad would happen. But that was then and this was now–and right now the only thing she wanted was her daughter back. The daughter that she and Eddie had made together, who now, both lay side by side in the ground.

Where did she go from here?

What did she do now?

Sorrow, was an empty pit, a bottomless hole in which she could fall forever–and easily enough, she could lose everything else that meant anything to her. She set the bottle down on the counter and thought of Warrick, of the pain that he was in, pain that she had caused–and failed to come up with an answer that would satisfy them both.

It wasn't that she didn't want to have another child–in the back of her mind she'd always thought that she wanted another if she could find the right man. Warrick was that man and she knew it but the thought of going through another pregnancy scared her. She didn't want the risk. The risk that every parent took when they had a child. The worry, the wonder, the intense pressure of keeping them safe and fed and warm, and hopefully, happy. How could she cope if something happened to this child? But he wanted it. He demanded it. He was all over her, wanting her to commit to everything he knew she couldn't. Dammit, it wasn't fair! Did she have to lose everyone she loved in the process? And she did love him even though she'd admitted it in anger, but it was still true.

She wondered what he was doing right now, wondered if he still loved her.

And what if he did? One dead off-spring was all she could handle––as if standing in the middle of the kitchen contemplating drinking a bottle of bourbon was handling _anything_.

She unscrewed the cap, and before she could change her mind she tipped the bottle back.

And dumped its entirety down the sink.


	30. Seeing Double

Warrick Brown pushed the heavy glass door open with his left shoulder and made his way inside the crowded coffee shop. Mid-afternoon's were busy, especially Monday's, hence the name of the establishment: Crazy Monday's Coffee.

Most people never forgot the name, which made it popular, and in Warrick's opinion, had been a very well thought out advertising ploy to bring in the masses.

He went directly to the counter and ordered an extra large coffee and, because he was feeling low, a slice of almond cake. Oblivious to the stares of the other patrons, he took a glance around the shop, not once realizing how much he stood out; His green t-shirt that matched his eyes so well, sat snugly over a six-pack chest as women at the tables near-by to whisper to each other and smile smugly. The dark blue jeans that hugged his behind had other ladies dissolving into fits of giggles...and still, he took no notice.

"Where ya at?"

"Fine." He smiled faintly—he always got a kick out of her greeting. In the Big Easy, 'Where ya at', was the same as saying 'how are ya'. "And you."

"Can't complain, sugar."

Again, he smiled politely at the head waitress, Tina----who had come to Vegas from New Orleans almost two years ago and had one _hell_ of a syrupy southern voice--- whom he knew had a crush on him--- ignored the way she leaned over to him revealing a pink lacy bra beneath her black v-neck button up shirt--- and grabbed a handful of napkins from the dispenser and went to find himself a seat near the back. A jazzy tune by Ella Fitzgerald crooned softly through hidden speakers in the wall and was just barely audible over the sound of various chatting.

The place was set up almost like a bar with its over-sized couches along the back wall, each with a gigantic coffee table that housed various magazines and books; The entire interior had a color scheme much like one would expect for royalty; Lots of purples, reds, yellow's. Long red drapes, accented by the crystal chandeliers that hung from six different points in the ceiling. The front area served as the cash, and behind it, a adequate sized kitchen for making light snacks.

Small round tables for two formed a small cluster in the middle. Both table and chairs were made of wrought-iron and felt very cozy-ish. Many first dates had been had there, filled with anxious couples looking to find the one they would spend the rest of their lives with. Many last dates also occurred at Crazy Monday's Coffee; Rejected men and women sitting with half drunk lattes and espressos, wondering where they went wrong.

But always, always, the coffee house was full...and there was nothing that made him feel more at home than when he was sitting quietly reading a good book and listening to the back-ground noise...at least it was all he had left. As he sat and ate his mind wandered to Catherine, to Lindsay and to his unborn child. A deep ache had lodged itself into his heart and was now a dull throb as he day-dreamed about what life could have been like for the four of them. He pictured their wedding day; Lindsay holding her new brother and sister as the minister pronounced them man and wife; Vacations to Disneyland or to the beach, all of them a real family.

Too bad it was never gonna happen now, he thought bitterly to himself. It was all over and Catherine had made her decision. He only hoped that he himself would have the strength to be polite to her when they saw each other again. Wishing that he could have talked some sense into her wasn't going to help him now and he was bitterly aware of the fact that the one thing he wanted more than life itself—to be a father—was being taken away by the one and only woman he ever loved.

Wasn't that a kick in the pants?

The music shifted and the classic sound of Louis Armstrong began to play, and still Warrick Brown's mind wandered: Should he call and see how she was? At least to make sure that she was okay—what kind of person would he be if he didn't at least call? Calling never hurt anyone, he reasoned. It wasn't like he was _actually_ going over there because _that _would be stupid; coming to her beck and call...he was just being...a friend...That was all. Right?

_Remember what she did to you?_

_She ripped out your heart, man!_

Deep inside himself there was a war going on; One part loved Catherine un-conditionally and wanted to stay with her no matter what the circumstances. The other part raged, dominant–the part that wouldn't let him forget that she was killing his child. He bowed his head, cradled it with his hands.

He thought about going to the casino and putting whatever money he had into a good game of poker or maybe the roulette tables...win some money so he could afford to move somewhere where he wouldn't be constantly running into _her_. He'd miss everyone else, especially Nick and Jamey, but he really had little choice. The sounds of the slot machines soothed him in a way that nothing else could. The rush of adrenaline, the happy sounds, the winners, the chance: That was a high that was hard to match.

He thought some more about it and decided that he was definitely losing his mind. He hadn't stepped foot into a casino to gamble in over three years—and he wasn't going back. Sworn to himself that he'd never let it control his life—and once again, the thought that he had no life left was the saddest part of all.

After he had finished his cake and coffee, he got up and brought his dishes to the counter—no sense in making more work for someone else, his grandmother had always told him. Tina saw him coming, wiped her hands on her blue and white apron and walked over to the counter, her breasts giggling beneath the tight shirt she wore. Equally tight blue jeans covered her size four body in all the right places and in any other circumstances he would have been asking for her phone number, as he knew that she was a sure thing.

"Thanks." He said, setting them down on the glass surface. "Cake was great."

"You're welcome." She flashed a brilliant smile at him with teeth as white as piano keys. "You should come back more often, sugar." She pushed back her chocolate colored curly hair out of her face, giving him a complete look at her profile. She was pretty, he noted. The deep green eyes, catlike and bright were her best feature, he decided. That, along with her mahogany skin that most men would itch to touch..but not him. Not today.

"I'll see what I can do." He said in a non-committal tone. He dug into his jeans and pulled out a couple of one dollar bills and slid them across the counter. "Thanks again."

"Tina." She said, grinning. "My name is Tina."

"Warrick." He didn't really want to get into introductions but extended his hand. "Nice to meet you."

"You come back anytime." She purred. Her head tipped up. "What can I getcha?" Realizing that he was in the way, he managed another polite smile and stepped back to let a tiny dark haired woman step up to the counter to make her order. She had on a pair of huge dark sunglasses and wore a snug knit cap on her head—even in the Las Vegas heat—but he still recognized her immediately—and felt like a big fool. Out of all the people he didn't want to run into, Jamey Kent was top on the list. Vaguely he wondered why she was dressed in a pair of black adidas pants with a matching black t-shirt and white Reebok runners—she looked so...so...different and, if possible, totally lost.

Wondering why she hadn't spoke to him first and quickly realizing it was because he was a jerk, he watched her out of the corner of her eye as she got her coffee and found herself a seat near the front. Again, the music changed as Ray Charles's "Night-time is the Right Time", came on, its bluesy wail pumping into the room. His feelings ruffled, even though he knew he had no right to be that way, he followed her to her table and pulled out a chair and sat down before she could say a word.

"You weren't even going to say hello?" He asked in a mildly hurt tone.

She set her coffee down. "Excuse me?"

"You ignored me." He accused. "I was standing right beside you." He glanced up at the counter where Tina was now watching with interest. "How could you not see me standing _right_ there?"

"Why would I say hello to you?" She leaned forward, still with her obtrusive sunglasses on. "Do I know you?"

He snorted. "That's really mature."

She took a sip of her black coffee. "I'm Sorry?" She set it back down with a clunk.

He cocked his head to the side—something was different–and not only the coffee. Jamey never drank black coffee and wouldn't drink anything that didn't have at least two cream and sugars in it. Her voice...there was something different about that voice. It had the same New York accent...but it was different...the pitch...the way her words came out. She even smelled different. Must have changed her signature perfume.

He furrowed his brow, intrigued. "Uh...after yesterday I thought about what I said to you and I want you to know that I'm really sorry..."

She held up a slender hand and shook her head. "I'm sorry. I think you're looking for someone else."

He snorted. "What? Come on...gimme a break. I'm trying to apologize to you..."

She cut him off a second time, by waving her hand in front of his face. "Uh..fella..I don't know who the hell you are..." She took off her sunglasses and set them down on the table in annoyance.

His mouth dropped open and formed an 'O', in realization that it wasn't Jamey, but someone who looked almost identical. The only first-glance difference were the deeply blue eyes of the woman in front of him. Further study, for someone who knew the Kent sisters, would know that Jamey had a tiny freckle below her bottom lip and Tracey had none. "I'm so sorry..." He stuttered. "I thought you were my friend...you look exactly like her." He said, incredulously, pushing back his chair to make a not-so-graceful exit.

"Wait!" She held out her arm, motioned for him to sit down. "Please...what's your friend's name?"

"Why?"

"I'm looking for someone." She blurted. "I've been in this city for a whole week and I can't find anything...I don't even know where I'm supposed to be looking."

He sat back down, the mystery seeker in him peaked. "I'm not a cop but I work for the Las Vegas Police Department." He said, so she would know she could trust him. "Who are you looking for?"

"A woman. Someone I haven't seen in a long time." She revealed. "Her name is Julia." She gazed at him earnestly. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this...but I'm lost and I really have no idea where to look for her."

He clasped his hands in front of him. "Do you even know where she lives?" He asked.

She shook her head, her blue eyes welling up with tears. "I have no idea. She disappeared a few years ago...we've been hearing stories about her from time to time...sometimes we get phone calls...but no one knows exactly where she is."

"Why do you think she's here?"

"We just...I just do. I hired a private detective named Preston Grey and he told me that she was here."

Warrick rolled his eyes. Preston Grey was a sleezy ex-paparazzi turned detective who made most of his money taking illicit photos of celebrities and then selling them to the highest bidder. "Don't believe a word he says, miss. He's a dirt-bag."

She looked at him pitifully. "I don't know what to do." She admitted softly. "I came out here and I didn't tell anyone. I thought that I would find her and come back before anyone even knew...now I'm too damn scared to call home and let them know I'm okay."

"I can help you if you like." He said slowly, not sure why he was even offering his help to this stranger.

Her eyes brightened a bit. "Really? That would be great." She picked up her mug and took another. "But your friend? What's her name?" She leaned closer, watching his eyes.

"Jamey." He answered, and widened _his_ eyes as she put her hand over her mouth to stifle a cry. Her blue eyes spilled over and tears rolled onto her finger.

"Miss?"

She shook her head.

"Miss are you alright?"

She brought her hand down and struggled to get her breath. "Jamey...your friends name is Jamey?"

He nodded. "You could be her twin." He said. "You look exactly like her..." He frowned. "Are you okay?"

"Is her last name Kent?"

Even though he knew the answer deep in his heart, he still had to ask.

"It is. Why, are you related to her?"

"She's my sister."


	31. Coming Together: Part One

100 days

A hundred days have made me older

since the last time that I saw your pretty face.

A thousand laughs have made me colder

and I don't think that I can look at this the same.

All the miles that separate

disappear now when I'm dreaming of your face.

I'm here without you baby,

but you're still on my lonely mind.

I think about you, baby

And I dream about you all the time.

I'm here without you, baby

But you're still with me in my dreams

and tonight there's only you and me.

The miles just keep rolling

as the people leave their way to say hello.

I've heard this life is overrated

but I hope that it gets better as we go

I'm here without you baby,

but you're still on my lonely mind.

I think about you, baby

And I dream about you all the time.

I'm here without you, baby

But you're still with me in my dreams

and tonight there's only you and me.

Everything I know and anywhere I go

it gets hard but it won't take away my love.

When the last one falls, when it's all said and done

It gets hard but it won't take away my love

I'm here without you baby,

but you're still on my lonely mind.

I think about you, baby

And I dream about you all the time.

I'm here without you, baby

But you're still with me in my dreams

and tonight there's only you and me.

"...and thank-you for flying with American Airlines."

Danny felt his stomach seize as the metal monster made its way down the runway and came to a stop. He'd never been a fan of flying, and did it as little as possible. Glad that he was on the ground and _alive_, he popped a piece of Big Red chewing gum in his mouth, grabbed his carry-on and exited the plane. Almost too late, he realized that he didn't even have a plan of action. He knew in his gut that Tracey was here...he just didn't have a clue where. He'd start by hunting up Preston Grey and maybe he'd have some leads.

He settled into a cab and gave the grungy driver the address to the hotel he'd picked on the strip. He was tired, dirty and all he wanted was a hot shower and a good nights sleep. And true to Mac Taylor's word, he found himself wondering about Jamey, about whether or not he would see her...and what if he did? What in the hell would he find to say?

If he was truthful to his friends and to himself, he would have said that he thought about Jamey every day. Even though they were miles apart it didn't stop him from loving her, from dreaming about her at night, from wanting her back. Though he doubted very much that if he had the chance to ask her to come home, he'd chicken out.

If the people who knew him best had been truthful to him, they would have said that he was a shell of his former self, a man who was dead for all intents and purposes except for the fact that he was still breathing. They would say that they were worried about him, about the fact that he blamed himself for everything, when nothing that had happened that day was his fault, nor was Jamey's leaving him.

Pushing the thoughts into the back of his mind, he paid cash for the room, made sure there were plenty of clean towels, tipped the bell boy and had a very long, hot shower.

Tomorrow he would start his search.


	32. Part TwoTell me a Story

"Let's go home."

It was a simple statement, yet comforting; assuring. And all she had to hear as he gently slid the seat belt across her chest and snapped it into place, his eyes filled with worry and wonder. The doctor had told him to keep Jamey at home for another week or so. Said she was too fragile emotionally to be working, wrote her a script for Adavan and sent them on their way. Nick had called Grissom, given him the news, then asked that they not be disturbed for at least one day, minimum. Although reluctant, Grissom did agree to give her the time before she was called in to answer some more questions. Now, in the car, he glanced sideways at the woman he loved and clenched his jaw. There was so much pain, he realized, in that tiny body, that over-worked soul, and it seemed that now was the time for her to fess up. She was making herself sick and he vowed that this would be the last time.

He traced his fingers across her cheek. "Awww...Jamey...I wish there was something I could do..." His face was dark, the questions ran deep, she knew. There was no turning back now. He would have to know everything and she knew that he wasn't going to be kept in the dark for much longer...or she would lose him for good. His patience was wearing thin––for good reason—but even though he was keeping himself on that short leash, he was still there for her one-hundred percent. She knew he was angry, even so, and it made her heart ache a little more, for he was kinder than any man she'd ever known.

She reached for his hand as he drew back, her red-rimmed eyes filling up with a thousand more tears left to shed. She was like a river un-dammed, for when she broke and ran free there was no stopping her or the emotions that had been hidden for so long. "I'll be fine." She cried softly. " I'll be fine." Her words were hollow, empty, as if she was saying them because she knew it was what he needed to hear, or quite possibly what she needed to say to keep herself from going under.

Nick lifted her hand to his lips, kissed the soft flesh. "How much longer are you gonna keep me in the dark darlin?" His eyes locked onto hers, unwilling to let her go. His voice was gravelly with emotion suppressed.

She cried harder and bowed her head, her long dark hair a shawl hiding her face. Her body trembled, shoulders shook. He let go of her hand and ran his own on the crown of her head soothingly. "Shh...shhhh...darlin, it's okay..."

"Please take me home, Nick." She begged softly. "I'll tell you when we get home."

"You got it." His tone matched her own; soft spoken words, tender, full of meaning, full of the love he felt for her. "Just lay back and close your eyes." He instructed as he pulled out of the hospital parking lot.

On a second thought he reached over and grabbed her pink cell phone from the cup holder and shut it off, then put his own on vibrate. He just wanted a few hours alone with her without any interruptions. Then maybe he'd learn the truth about a few things. Hell, he wanted the truth about everything.

Once home, he got out of the car, went around an opened her door and scooped her up his arms. She didn't resist.

They rode the elevator in silence and when they got inside he took her into the bedroom and set her gently on the bed. "Nick..."

"I'll be right back." He went into her room and took out a fresh pair of pajamas and a pair of panties, then strode into the bathroom and turned on the shower. When he appeared in the doorway she was curled up in the fetal position crying softly. His heart constricted and he had to remind himself to be strong. Resisting the urge to cry himself he walked over and picked her up and carried her into the bathroom and set her on her feet.

"Come..." He said softly, as he pulled her tank top over her head. "Take a shower and then I'll make you some soup." He reached behind her and undid the clasp on her black lacy bra, letting it drop to the floor. He hunkered down and slipped his fingers under the elastic of her panties and slid them off. Like a child she let him guide her safely under the hot water. She stood blankly, letting the heat wash over her. "Good girl." He soothed.

Satisfied that she would be alright, he stepped back and started to shut the shower curtain, but her hand reached out and grabbed his forearm. "Come in with me?"

He blinked. "You want me to shower with you?"

"I want your arms around me." She nodded, her eyes bleak. "I want to be close to you."

"Jame..." He started hesitantly, knowing exactly what would happen if he got into the shower with her. They'd both be naked...and when he saw her naked his brain turned into a clump of broccoli. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea..."

"Please, Nick." She begged, not letting go of his arm. In fact, her fingers dug a little deeper in urgency. "Come in with me." Despite, his resolve, he understood why she wanted him with her. It was her way of opening up, of being intimate, even if it wasn't with words. It was progress...

He nodded. "Alright then." He pulled off his t-shirt and jeans, shucked his underwear and stepped under the hot spray. Immediately, she wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her head in his shoulder. Unsure of what to do, he returned the embrace and cradled her against his chest, cursing himself when he felt himself becoming aroused.

"Ahh..." He looked down at her, helpless to what his body wanted and made a move to step back, but when her hands slid down and cupped his cheeks, he understood.

"I want to feel you." She murmured, flicking her tongue over his nipples, then gently bit down. "Make me feel alive."

He closed his eyes as he felt the sensation overtaking him, feeling himself pressed against her stomach. He ran his own hands down and cupped her bottom, grinding her against him.

She kissed his chest, and moved her hands up his back then up to his shoulders so she could brace herself against him. He tipped his head down and sought her lips, then the hard buds of her nipples. Hungry, was a word that came to mind; Hot, wanting, needing. He lifted his head and bent to kiss her again and she opened her mouth to him eagerly. She was demanding and it aroused him even more.

"I want you." She kissed him deeper and dug her fingers into his skin. "I want you now."

He groaned and lifted her hips, her legs wrapped around his waist and gave in to the deepest sensation that he'd ever known. When it was over, he dried them both off and after getting her pajamas on, set her down on the edge of the tub and dried her hair. The sweetness of the gesture was not lost on her and she could never remember feeling so loved.

She took his hand and let him into bed. Only after his arms were secured around her did she begin to speak, to tell him about Julia and all of the other things that were still standing between them.

"How come you didn't tell me you had family here?" He asked finally, when she was quiet.

"I didn't know she was here."

"She never contacted you?"

"I haven't seen her for a couple of years."

"Because you came here?" He asked. "Or was there another reason?"

She sighed, turned in his arms so she could face him. She looked better than she had a few hours earlier, but played out just the same. She swallowed. "We were best friends when we were growing up. Her dad and my dad were brothers and we spent a lot of time together. But when we grew up we went our separate ways."

"Why?"

"She got into the wrong crowd. She was heavy into drugs and alcohol and when I was going to college she was partying all the time. She took off one day and never came back. Sometimes she'd call and tell us that she was in Texas or California...no one ever knew where she was. It's funny that she'd end up here, isn't it?"

He rubbed her bare shoulder comfortingly. "Ya." He leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. "Are you going to call your parents?"

" I guess I have to." She said reluctantly. "I haven't talked to them in a very long time, Nick..what if they're mad at me?"

"Then we'll deal with it together." He promised.

"I'm glad you're here with me."

"Me too." This time he reached down and gave her a kiss full on the mouth. "Jame?"

"Ya?"

" I love you."

She looked surprised, for a second, and when her eyes filled with fresh tears he was sure he'd blown it. Then she surprised him by cupping his cheek and kissing him forcefully. "I love you too. More than I thought I could love anyone again."

They decided to call her parents in the morning, after a full nights sleep. With their arms wrapped around each other, like two kittens, they drifted off together.

And in the kitchen, his cell phone rang incessantly.

Without a sound..


	33. Part ThreeOld Wounds

"_Damn!_" Warrick flipped the cell shut, teeth clenched. He had called Nick and Jamey both at least ten times. Where the hell were they? He and Tracey had gone directly to the apartment, knowing that neither of them were both back on duty until Tuesday evening. They were always home if they weren't at work. Irritated, he turned to Tracey who was sitting beside him in the passenger seat. "They're still not answering. I don't know where they are."

She was munching on a burger and fries that they'd gotten at a Burger King drive thru. "No luck?" She took a sip of her soda then set it in the cup holder of the Denali. "How about the lab? Would they be there?"

He shook his head, took a drink of his own, stared strait ahead. "Nah. They both had some time off..." He reached behind him, rubbed the back of his neck, a habit he'd had since childhood. He always did it when he was uncomfortable.

"Oh..." She purposely trailed off, then bit into the burger again, accompanied it by another drink and two more fries. "Do you think they'll be back soon?" She asked between bites.

"Tomorrow." He said softly. "They'll be back for the graveyard shift."

"Did they go on a trip?"

"No...uh..." He ran a weary hand over his forehead and sighed. "There was a death...in our family...and...well...they both took a few days."

"Oh...I'm so sorry Warrick." She reached over and gave his forearm a squeeze, her eyes compassionate, and somehow he knew that he could trust her...this stranger...but knowing that she was Jamey's sister made him feel more comfortable and ever since Lindsay's death he'd had no one to talk to...no one to just listen. He'd burned his bridges, or so he thought, with his two best friends and it felt good to talk about how he felt for a change

"Was it someone you all knew well?" She noticed how he tensed and felt guilty. "I'm sorry...it's none of my business..."

"No...it's okay. It feels good to talk about it. He shook his head, feeling the ever-present lump that was in his throat come back full force. "It was my girlfriends daughter." He said, looking out the window, staring at the scenery outside. "Or I _should_ say, my ex-girlfriend."

"Oh that's terrible..." She said softly. "I know what that feels like. I lost my nephew three years ago." She said. "It hurts every single day."

He nodded. "She was only fourteen." He continued. "She drowned at the beach. Didn't come home and we found out the next day. Catherine...that's...was..." He corrected himself " ...my girlfriend...she was devastated beyond anything I've ever seen. I just didn't know how to help her."

"I'm sure you did the best you could."

"Yah." He muttered, thinking about the baby that was his. The baby that he'd never see. Not wanting to risk breaking down he decided not to mention it. "She says she isn't strong enough to deal with it...she's just...she just doesn't want my help." He said bitterly. "She doesn't want anyone's help."

"I'm sure she's just in so much pain she can't see beyond her own heart." Tracey said wisely. "Give her time, Warrick. She'll come around."

"I doubt it." He looked over at her and gave a tight smile. "But thanks for saying it anyway." He said, putting an end to a very painful conversation.

"So what should we do next?" She looked at her watch. "It's almost eleven now...maybe I should go back to the hotel and we can start in the morning?"

"Okay." He agreed, starting up the Denali and putting it in reverse. "I'll give you my number and as soon as you wake up give me a call. I'll even take you out for breakfast if you'd like."

"That would be great." She smiled. Oh but she did have beautiful eyes, he thought. Beautiful blue eyes...just like Catherine...He shook off the thought, tried to concentrate.

"And then what?" She asked.

"I'll keep trying Nick." He answered as they pulled out of the Burger King parking lot and back onto the strip. He guided the wheel with strong hands with a kind of casual grace. "And I'd say it won't be too long before we reunite you with your sister and your cousin."

"That would be great."

"What hotel you staying at?"

"The Mirage."

"That's only about five minutes away. I'll have you there in no time."

She looked over at him as they drove along. She regarded his strong features, his beautifully green eyes, his hard body, and wondered if he was seeing anyone. Most likely, she decided. Anyone who was that good looking had to have a woman in the picture. Thinking about relationships she took the conversation in another direction. "So, how long have this Nick guy and my sister been together?"

He laughed, a real laugh, deep and from the throat—a laugh that she found quite appealing. "That's funny. They're not together but they've lived together since the day that Jamey landed here. Been best friends ever since." He grinned at her and gave her a playful wink, his mood now lighter. "But between you and me I'd say that it's only a matter of time."

"You think?"

"Ya...you'd have to be a fool not to know how they look at each other." He turned and faced her fully, his green eyes curious. "Wait...You're her sister...why don't you know all this stuff? When's the last time you talked to her?"

Now it was her turn to be evasive...that game went both ways, although neither of them were prone to playing games. She looked down. "Since before she left New York." She admitted.

His mouth hung open. "How?" He asked. "Why?"

She sighed, pushed her hand through her long dark hair, fiddled with the cap in her hand. "When she left she got Danny to tell all of us that she didn't want to be contacted...she couldn't deal with anything and she ran. _That_ was her solution." Tracey said, it now being her turn to be bitter.

"Whose Danny?"

"She never told you about Danny?"

He shook his head. "She never told us anything about her personal life. Nothing about family, or friends. The only thing we knew about her was that she was from New York. I tried to get her to open up to me a few times...but she just shut down..."

"Ya. That seemed to be the way it went." She reached up, brushed a tear from her eye. "Danny was her boyfriend...actually her fiancé. They worked at the Crime Lab together...and when she left...or before she left, really...he completely fell apart. She couldn't handle it so she left."

"Ran away?"

" She really never mentioned anything about us?" She asked in a very hurt tone, reached up and brushed another tear from her eye when he nodded in confirmation. "Then you don't know who A.J. is, do you?"

"No." He glanced over at her. "Are you going to tell me?"

"If she didn't tell you...then it's not really up to me." She answered. "I'm sorry...it's just her story to tell, you know?"

"I do...and it's okay, Tracey. I understand."

"Thanks...really...thanks for everything."

"No problem." He guided the vehicle into the parking lot of the hotel. "Just think, tomorrow morning you'll get to see her again." He offered her a smile. "Maybe you can put the past behind you."

He had no idea how right he was.


	34. Tuesday Morning

Tuesday morning...

Danny threw back the silky blue bedspread of the mildly comfortable double bed–which should have been like sleeping on marshmallows for the friggin price he'd paid for the room-- and set his feet on the floor. Dizzy. He actually felt _dizzy_ and couldn't remember the last time his stomach had felt a dozen butterflies buzzing around—not counting the plane ride the day before. His mind was churning, a thousand possibilities making their way to the surface. Finding Tracey Kent was the number one priority and if...if..he found her then maybe the two of them had a chance of seeing Jamey before they went back to New York.

His body trembled. He was finally closer to her than he'd been, it felt like, in forever. He wondered if he'd walk down the street and bump into her in a totally random act of divine intervention. Maybe she would grab him, her green eyes silently begging a thousand apologies for everything that had happened between them. She would hold on for dear life–-and cry and ask him to forgive her for being so cold, for leaving him so alone all those months. She'd tell him that it was him and only him that she loved. That she was ready to put Las Vegas behind her. That she was ready to come home.

_Maybe._..

The more likely reality was much harsher. If he had been a betting man, and he was not, he would not have put money on a wager on whether or not she would even speak to him for one second. Or if she gave him the time of day she would probably slap his face. Yell at him for interrupting her new life, for dredging up old wounds that weren't quite closed yet. Tell him that it was his fault that their son, their life, was dead. He pushed to his feet and swayed a moment, his head feeling stuffy and unreal. He blinked back the traces of sleep, scrubbed his palms over his two day stubble, and went and turned on the shower...and again, thoughts of Jamey plagued his mind.

She'd been gone so long that had she any intention of seeing how he was doing she would have done so by now. The nagging thought— a thought that made him sick--- reminded him, as it had in the long, lonely months past, that she may have found someone else to love...as he had with Aidan. In the back of his mind he knew that he'd not actually fallen in love–rather he'd fallen into lust, into the shallow grave of infidelity and by the time he'd come up for air it had been too late. Too many months had passed, too many beers consumed, and he'd made love with Aidan as much as he had with Jamey when they'd been happy. What had made it worse, much worse, was the that he'd found himself unable to stop wanting her, from craving her, from feeling her underneath him in that desperate need to mate, to be close. Trouble was that she wasn't the woman he was supposed to be with. She was his partner, his friend, and he'd destroyed everything.

Disgusted with himself, as he always was when he thought about what he'd done, he shut off the water and dried himself off. He settled on a pair of faded Levi's and a grey t-shirt, slapped his Yankees hat over his wet hair and patted his stomach, which was slightly queasy, either from hunger or nerves. Deciding that he first needed to find the man that Tracey was looking for, he considered what he should do first. He took a moment to locate the telephone book which was secured neatly in the bedside table drawer and sat down on the unmade bed. He flipped through the book, not finding any Preston Grey's listed in the general Las Vegas area. He tried Henderson but didn't find anything either. Annoyed, he tried to think of who this Grey person was and why Tracey would be meeting him. Was he a boyfriend? An old lover perhaps? There really was no way to tell without speaking to Tracey herself. A thought occurred to him and he felt his heart rate speed up, his stomach knotting. He flipped through the yellow pages and didn't stop until he came to the section marked 'Private Investigators'. Near the bottom he located the name, feeling a certain kind of glee. One step closer. He picked up the phone and dialed.

Three rings and a gruff voice picked up. "Grey. Whadda ya got for me?" He was hoping that it was an associate, Willy, who was supposed to get back to him with some very interesting, and profitable, information on a certain male celebrity who had spent the night in the company of a very famous starlet...not his wife. He could feel the excitement knot in his chest, the smell of money, of a juicy story that would destroy lives and it made him almost giddy with the thought that he had the power to make it happen.

"Is this Preston Grey?" Danny asked. "The P.I.?"

"That's me. Whadda ya need?" He leaned back in his cheap leather chair, put his feet up on the desk. He was on the short side, approximately five-eight, with a military style haircut. Not bad looking, almost like a Matthew McConaghey or a Jude Law, which boded well in his favor when he wanted information...and he knew how to get it. He was a snappy dresser when he could afford it–when he had to press some hollywood type actress for whatever he needed. Yes, Preston Grey knew his way around.

"I'm looking for someone..."

"Well you came to the right guy." He briskly interrupted. "You pay me fifty an hour. Need a two hundred deposit up front."

"Well..."

"Do ya need me or not?" He lit a smoke, exhaled slowly. "I don't got all day, fella."

Danny rolled his eyes, immediately disliking the man. The guy had no problem being pushy. Not the kind of guy that Tracey would get mixed up with for sure. "I wondered if you could meet me today. I"m looking for someone who you may know."

"Oh ya?" The voice dripped with interest. "And who may that be?"

"Her name is Tracey Kent and I have reason to believe that she came here to meet you."

"That the broad from New York?"

Danny felt his heart-rate speed up again. So he did know her. "Have you seen her?"

"I may have." He answered evasively. He took a deep breath, saw dollar signs in his head. Another New York sucker come to Vegas. He loved this kind of work. Always made more money when people were desperate to find those they loved. "What's it to ya?"

"I need to find her."

"Do you know how much money we're talking?"

"Doesn't matter." Danny decided, clenching his teeth. It really didn't, not when Mike had agreed to foot the bill, and Tracey was his daughter, the only one he had contact with. "It's important."

"Really? Well...that'll cost you." His pale grey eyes lit up with excitement, with glee...maybe from this bit of work he could finally get that new Gucci suit he needed to take that old widow from Miami out for dinner. He needed to look stacked.

"Whatever." Danny snapped impatiently. "Will you meet me or not?"

"Sure I will." There was a new kind of false friendliness in the voice. "What hotel are you at?"

"The Mirage."

"I'll meet you in the dining-room in an hour."

"Fine."

"What's your name?"

"Danny Messer."

"You from New York too?"

"Wow. You really are a great detective." Danny dead-panned.

Ignoring the chance to retort to the insult, Preston laughed. "I'll see you in an hour." He repeated. Guy would be paying out his nose before he was done.

Satisfied that he had made some headway, he hung up the phone and paced around the hotel room. He didn't like the man. He was shady _and_ greedy. He just hoped that he'd get the right information out of him before it cost Mike Kent his whole retirement. He grabbed his room key and wallet and shut the door behind him, figuring that at least he couldn't do any more harm by getting himself a big greasy breakfast from the dining-room, since he had to meet the weasel there anyway.


	35. Attraction Among Strangers

Tracey had just about finished drying her hair when the phone rang on the bedside table. She set the dryer aside, and clad in a pair of navy boy cut briefs and a matching blue bra, strode over and picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Tracey?" The mellow voice came across the line. "It's Warrick Brown."

She sat on the bed, crossed her legs Indian style, happy and relieved to hear from him. "Hi Warrick, how are you doing this morning?" She thought about what he had told her the night before, about him losing both his girlfriends daughter and his girlfriend all in the same week. Actually, she'd thought more about him than she had cared to admit.

There was a slight pause and in it she realized that all had not gone well. "I didn't get a hold of Nick or Jamey..." He began tentatively. "Neither of them appear to be home or at least they aren't answering the door or the phone."

Her heart sunk. "That's okay, I guess." She took a deep breath, wondering what to do. "So what do you think?"

"Well, I think that we both need to eat before we go anywhere." He decided. "I'm about a block away from the hotel. Why don't I meet you in the restaurant? We can eat there. Get a game plan together."

From the way her stomach grumbled she had no opposition. "Sure thing. I'll be down in ten."

"See you then."

She set the phone down and got off the bed. Digging in her suitcase she found a pair of jeans and, because for some reason was conscious of how she looked, a black tank top. She put her hair up in a ponytail and added a few finishing touches on her makeup. She felt silly, making all the preparations for a man that she didn't know. A man who was obviously in love with someone else...but she couldn't help it. She was attracted to him in a way that she'd never felt before. It was almost all consuming, like a fire that started deep inside her and was quickly taking over.

She dabbed on her favorite perfume as an afterthought and grabbed her room key . She took the money and necessary id that she always carried, plus her raspberry lip gloss. Even in her time of distress over finding her cousin, she was still a woman first.

She took the elevator down to the main lobby and crossed the wide space that was filled with trees and a huge flowing fountain, her flip flops making their usual sounds against the marble floor. Had she been noticing where she was going or paying attention to the people around her she would have drawn her attention to the young man with his back to her wearing jeans and a blue baseball cap who was standing at the front of the restaurant paying his bill, a shorter blond haired man beside him. Had she not been thinking about Julia and Warrick she would have noticed the thick New York accent as she passed him by; Would have noticed him from the way he stood, the wide gate of his walk. But she noticed none of this and walked right by her would-have-been brother-in-law without a second glance. He tipped the head waitress and the two men walked toward the lobby.

Tracey looked around until she spotted Warrick sitting down at a table for two near the back. He stood, motioned for her to come over, smiling at her, making her insides melt. She reached him without making any colossal mistakes; Didn't trip, didn't knock anything over, just walked with a calm that she did not feel. He looked better than she had remembered with his black dress shirt that was opened about three buttons down, revealing the smooth skin of his upper chest. He'd complimented the savvy shirt with a pair of dark blue jeans and black shoes. They could not have been any more coordinated as far as dressing alike could have gone. She ignored her thoughts and smoothed the top of her ponytail down.

"Hi." She said shyly as she reached him and sat down. "I'm really glad that you called." Then tried to keep her face from turning red at the way it had sounded.

But if he had caught any undercurrent to her words he ignored it or didn't catch on. Simply leaned his elbows on the table. Rested his chin in his hands. "You know it's illegal in Vegas for a woman to keep a man waiting." He raised his eyebrows, his wonderfully green eyes twinkling with amusement. "Especially for the most important meal of the day."

"You said ten minutes!" She pointed at him playfully. "I was down in fifteen–tops." She opened her menu, gave it a once over. "What are you having?"

He grinned, and despite his will not to be attracted to her, found himself enjoying the company. It wasn't that he was looking for anyone new. Far from it; He loved Catherine with everything in him, loved her so much it hurt, but sometimes love hurt you so much that you just couldn't go back. Despite his aversion to looking at anyone, he found himself very attracted to her. Guilt flooded through him like a tidal wave, berating him for feeling this way when it had only been days since Lindsay had died and he'd lost Catherine. Suddenly he felt like the biggest jerk on the planet.

"and so when she came here we thought that we'd eventually hear from her but after a while we knew that she was never coming home. It was hard on my parents but it was even harder for Danny..." She was saying. Realizing that he was looking at her, but not _looking_ at her, more through her, she set down her fork and watched him frown. "Warrick?"

He blinked, embarrassed that he'd been caught staring at her so openly. "Huh...sorry." He shook his head and gave her a tight smile. "I'm sorry, Tracey. I'm not myself today."

"It's okay." She shrugged, picked up her fork and dug into her hash-browns. "I'm sorry if I'm talking about my family too much."

He shook his head, reached over and put his hand over her free one. "You're not. I want to hear everything—I really do—I'm just—my mind is wandering a lot." He let go of her hand, suddenly aware that it fit perfectly in his, that the warmth of her made his skin tingle. He put his hand to his chin, scratched the stubble. "I must sound like a real jerk, huh?"

She bit down on her lip, her eyes clung to his, saying more than either of them could say or would say. She understood loss as well as he did and he was sure, as sure that he needed oxygen to keep alive, that she had felt the sensation too. Her cheeks had reddened at his touch, eyes widened, as if she didn't know what to do next...or trust herself to leave her hand in his. "Not at all. You're hurt and I'm coming at a time where everything in your life is upside down. I'm sorry for intruding like this. Maybe you should just take me to the police or your lab. I'm sure that once Jamey knows why I'm here that she'll help me. Julia was our favorite cousin."

"How do you know she's here?" He asked.

"She came out here a couple of years ago. She was strung out on coke or heroine, which ever drug of choice she'd bottomed out on. Said she needed a change. We'd hear from her every once in a while."She chewed thoughtfully, then took a sip of her coffee. " Just about killed my aunt and uncle though. They just about died when she left. They were so scared of what would happen to her. My aunt used to say that she would have been better of dead, that way they wouldn't always have to wonder how she was. If she was dead in a gutter or hookin for money."

"She was hooking?"

"Last I heard she was turnin a few tricks..." She held up her fingers, made the 'supposed' sign with her index and middle fingers. "Every _once_ in a while. " She put her hands back down, picked up her fork again. "That's how she put it. But she called me a couple weeks ago. Said she'd run into money problems. Had this boyfriend who was beatin the crap outta her cause she didn't bring in enough dough. She was scared. Said he was gonna kill her. I told her to stay put, that I'd come down and we'd fly back together. She said she was going to clean up her act. So I didn't tell anyone. I packed a bag and flew out right away. I thought that it would be better this way but I bet my parents are going outta their minds."

"And what happened when you got here?"

"She didn't meet me where she said she would. I been lookin all over this place and no sign of her."

"You didn't get her address?"

She sighed, annoyed with herself. "She said she was in-between places." She shrugged, drank down the last of her coffee. "What can I say? I believed her. I didn't think I'd even have to see Jamey, cause I knew that she wanted to be left alone. But that's all over now. She'll have no other choice."

It wasn't that he didn't want to help her, but he was curious as to why she hadn't called her sister in the first place. Why would she have already spent a week in the city by herself and not call? "I want to help you." He reiterated so she didn't get the wrong idea. "But can I ask _why_ you didn't call Jamey yourself?"

She looked down, picked at the food on her plate and he could tell that she was uncomfortable. "She didn't want to see me. She didn't want to see or hear from any of us. Not me, not my parents. She told Danny that she would call us when she got her life back on track." She looked up at him, frustrated, tears swimming in her eyes. "It's been almost two years, Warrick. Two _years_." The anger that she'd kept hidden for so long made her feel like she was going to choke. "That's a long time to turn your back on your family. A long time to keep us wondering if she was dead or alive." Her blue eyes were now darker, angry as she looked at him. "It's pretty selfish and it took me a long time to be able to say that but it's true."

"I'm sorry that you had to go through that, Tracey." Before he could think about it, he reached over and grabbed her hand again. This time she squeezed it back and made no move to let it go. "We'll find Julia. We'll go right to the lab and this time you'll get some answers and maybe a little closure."

"Well..." A voice came from behind them. An angry female voice. "Isn't this a pretty picture?"

He looked up in shock and Tracey wound her head around to see who the voice belonged to. A very petit, very angry red-head stood with her arms crossed over her breasts. "We've been broke up, what, two days and you're already dating?"

He pulled his hand back as if he had been burned. "This isn't what it looks like..." He began, pushing back his chair.

"Screw this." She spat. "And screw you, Warrick."


	36. Interruptions

Sara groaned and rolled over amidst the sea of blankets that covered her nudity and groped for her cell phone. She cursed and pushed her messy hair back out of her face as she looked at the digital clock's annoyingly bright green numbers. It was only lunch time but she'd had little or no sleep. Whoever was calling had better have a damn good reason for waking her.

"Sidle." She croaked. Her throat felt dry and scratchy—and above all else–pasty. She and Greg had gotten into a few too many Revs the night before...and they were so tasty she could hardly say no, hence the awful taste in her mouth. She licked her lips in a vain attempt to moisten the dryness that had accumulated there over night. She could hear the clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen and the undeniable smell of fresh coffee and pancakes. Still, she had to fight the urge to throw up. The band playing Dixieland in her head didn't help matters either.

"Sara?"

"Arrrrr..too much light...too much..." She groaned again, placing her free hand on her head–this time louder and with total and utter annoyance at the voice on the other end. "What?"

"I'm sorry to do this to you but I need you to come in and finish processing Julia Kent's things."

"Griss, It's only lunch time." She practically whined. "I still have a full shift after that, right?" The only day that she wanted and needed to get some extra sleep he was calling her. Before she could stop herself she added "Are you sure you can't get along without me?"

There was a slight pause, then he cleared his throat. "Are you feeling alright?"

She was tired, cranky, and now, going to get ready for work a full seven hours before she needed to be. "Is that a trick question?"

"No." He said mildly, almost amused. "But it is the first time since I've known you that you've complained about coming into work early." Another pause, and then. "And Sara, I'm sorry but I really do need you now. Her family will be notified within the hour."

"Fine. I'll be there." She agreed glumly. "But I'm eating my breakfast first." She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and rose to find a t-shirt.

"That's fine, Sara." He replied. "Oh, and Sara?"

"Ya?" She bent down and retrieved Greg's white t-shirt and a pair of boxers that were lying beside them. If his underwear was on the floor than that meant he was in her kitchen wearing...

Grissom's stoic voice cut through her cloudy thoughts. "I'm glad to see that you took my advice."

"What advice?"

"About you finding a life outside of the lab. I'm happy for you."

"Oh..." She scratched her head, considered what he'd said. "Thanks...I guess."

"Come an get 'em!" Greg's voice called from the kitchen. "Get out of bed, sleepyhead!" He called again when she didn't answer fast enough.

"Be right there!" She called, then winced, hoping that she had some Tylenol left or it was gonna be a long day. She pulled on the t-shirt and boxers and made her way into the kitchen. She stopped and leaned against the doorway and, even though it hurt to do so, she began to laugh. "Oh Greg, that is quite possibly _the_ cutest outfit I've seen you wear yet."

He turned around, gave her a wicked grin. "You said that you like easy access. I was just trying to make it _easy_ for you." He waggled his eyebrows. " In case you may want to take advantage of me again sometime soon."

She slid into a chair, doubled over. "I'll keep that in mind." She wished that she could take a picture of the sight: Greg Sanders standing in her kitchen amidst a wonderful breakfast consisting of bacon (for him), eggs, pancakes and coffee...and wearing nothing but her apron.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoox

"Catherine!"

She was already walking away as fast as she could. Tracey cringed as she watched the various emotions play over Warrick's face; Surprise, then anger, then fear. He loved this woman, no matter the circumstances. He turned to her, threw his napkin down on the table. "I 'm sorry Tracey. I have to go catch her." He watched her face anxiously. "I'll be right back. I promise."

"Go." She answered. "I'm sorry if I caused any trouble for you." She turned and watched his back, feeling guilty for the scene that had played out before her.

He turned and jogged out of the restaurant in search of Catherine. She may have gotten ahead of him, but he had longer legs and soon he spotted her near the door. He had to run to catch her without making a scene. "Catherine!"

If she heard him she ignored it and pushed her way out the heavy glass. She was furious and had never felt so hurt by a man in all her life. Not even Eddie had evoked this kind of anger from her. She hadn't meant to follow him that morning...she'd just missed him, wanted to find a way to make peace between them...and when she'd seen his Denali leave the drive she'd followed. But when he'd gone into the hotel she'd started to feel suspicious. She'd actually watched him with Jamey at the table for a few minutes. She felt stupid to not have noticed before. But how,_ how_, could Jamey do this to her? In her haste, Catherine did not realize that he had not been sitting with Jamey Kent. Had she looked closer she would have seen the differences, but her anger had kept her from being rational.

"Damn you!" She muttered, swiping at her eyes, angry at herself for being weak. "Damn you!"

"Catherine!"

She didn't look back, just kept going toward the parking lot, her anger making her see red. It was different with him; It always had been. With Warrick he could hurt her so deeply it felt like she would never recover; The words, the looks, the energy that sizzled and peaked between them was like electricity. No one had ever made her feel more loved, more alive, or at the moment, more murderous.

"Hold up, Cath!" He shouted, nearly as angry as she. "Just stop for a damn minute!" He may as well have been talking to the wind for all the response he was getting. When he'd had enough, he doubled his strides and grabbed her roughly by the arm, whipping her around.

"Get your hands off me!" She screamed, red faced, tears coursing down her cheeks. She struggled until he clamped both hands around her shoulders.

"No!" He shouted back. "You have to listen to me!"

"Why should I? You're a liar!" She spat, breathing heavy and if looks could kill he would have burned to an ember. "And to think that I was trying to make things right between us...and you're dating...you're dating Jamey behind my back! You're..."

"Shut up! Shut up and listen to me!" He shouted. "That is not Jamey!"

"Bull-shit!" She screamed. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

His nostrils flared and his eyes watered in his anger. Temper had reached the surface and was now coming out of him, his pores, his mind, his heart. "It's not Jamey!" He yelled directly in her face. "It's her _sister_! She's looking for their cousin. I'm not having an affair!"

She stopped struggling and looked at him. "You're not? Jamey has a sister? Why is she here?"

"It doesn't matter!" He shook his head, let go of her shoulders and she reached up to wipe at her eyes. He took a step back, realizing that she really didn't trust him. Not at all. "Do you think I'd have an affair with a co-worker?" He asked bitterly.

"You had one with me." She answered.

He took another deep breath. "That's different! That's totally different! I've been in love with you since the moment I met you! But it doesn't matter now..." He went on. "You don't trust me and you never will..."

"It's not that..." She began, as she felt her own temper slow down a bit. She believed him, she didn't know why, but she did...and then she began to feel embarrassed for the way she acted. "I just saw you with another woman and I thought that..."

"NO!" He shouted, making her jump. He ignored her as she started to cry again, really cry hard. She covered her face with her hands but he grabbed them, made her look at his face so she could see what she'd done to him. "It's true! You don't trust me and you think that for one moment I"d be out here dating when you ripped my heart out and stomped all over it? You think I want to go near another woman?" He threw his hands up in the air, laughed bitterly. "Oh no...I'm not going to be that stupid again."

"I'm sorry!" She cried harshly. "I'm sorry, you make me crazy! And I'm not myself..."

"I don't care!" He cried meanly. "You're sorry now but you're still going to have an abortion aren't you? You're still going to kill my child..."

"Warrick, about that..." She began, but he was too wound up, too upset to listen.

"No! I don't want to hear it!" His voice lowered, and he bared his teeth to her, his eyes deadly calm. "But I can guarantee you this----after you do this don't you ever speak to me again—do not talk to me—do not look at me because if you do I may just want to kill you with my bare hands." He turned around and started to walk away, but stopped and he turned to face her again. "Just so we're clear...this is over. We're over."

His own anger took her breath away as she watched him turn and stride back towards the hotel. And he hadn't even given her the chance to tell him that she'd come to a decision about the abortion. Loneliness claimed her as she walked to her car and drove home.


	37. Rock

It was nearly lunch time when Nick rolled over and stretched his well-worked muscles. No matter the current circumstances, he had never been happier in all his life. He loved being needed, being wanted and loved by just one woman. It was the way he was raised; He loved women, grew up in a house full of them. Loved the way they talked, the way they smelled, hell–he loved the way they laughed—and he knew how to treat them right. Something his father had always been adamant about–and it had been the best advice he had ever received.

Instinctively, he reached over to put an arm around Jamey and found nothing but the empty space beside him. Frowning, he opened his eyes and looked around the room—and felt his heart drop.

She wasn't gone, as he always suspected some day she would be—rather she was standing quietly in her white bathrobe, hair piled up on top of her head, holding a cup of steaming coffee. She had opened the window to get the breeze and looking through the blinds down to the street below, but her shoulders were shaking slightly, and he knew that she was crying.

Alarmed, he peeled back the blankets and scooted over her side of the bed. "Jamey?" He set his feet on the floor and rose. "Darlin, what's wrong?"

She gave him a quick glance, just enough for him to see the redness in her eyes and nose, but held out her arm for him to stay back. "Don't." She said softly, as she turned back to the window.

"Don't what?" He asked, confused. He sat back down and waited. His heart hammered in his chest and he felt a sense of foreboding. She was either leaving him or was about to tell him something terrible.

"Don't come any closer." She shook her head, set the coffee on the high-boy beside her and reached up to wipe her eyes.

He frowned. "Why not? What's wrong?"

"I have to tell you everything." She confessed. "I can't sleep anymore. It's all I can think about." She bowed her head and took a deep breath before sitting down on the pillow covered window seat. "It was my fault."

"What was your fault?" He asked softly.

"My son's death. A.J.'s death was all my fault."

"Come on, Jame.." He began, but she looked up at him with a look so haunting, he shut his mouth and decided to let her get it out—it had been a long time coming. "Sorry." He said. "I'll shut up."

"You don't really want to be with me."

"What?" He shook his head. "What are you talking about?"

"I let my son die." She swallowed hard. "I don't deserve to be with someone as fine as you."

He took a deep breath, tried to hide the panicky feeling of dread that was creeping up on him. "Don't say that." He shook his head. "Don't let me hear you say that again. You are the only good thing that's come into my life in I don't know how long. I _love _you. I want to be with you so you better get used to it. What happened to your son could not have been your fault or you would have been in jail."

She looked beyond him, somewhere up on the ceiling, remembering another time, and he knew that by telling him her story she would relive it all over again. "We wanted to have a pool party for him. He loved the water and he was learning how to swim. Danny..." She looked directly at him this time. "That was my fiancee...did you know that?" She asked.

He nodded. "I know darlin. It's okay."

"Danny didn't want to have a pool party. He hated the water. He nearly drowned when he was a kid and he never went near the pool unless he had to be in it with A.J." She stopped and took another couple of deep breath's. "I pushed for it and in the end I got my own way. And there were about ten neighborhood kids there and the party was really crazy with everyone runnin around and screamin..." Her accent became thicker, more pronounced as she continued. "A little neighbor girl was on the trampoline and she jumped the wrong way and fell down through the little opening on the side..." She looked up at him again. "You know the little opening on the side?" She seemed almost in a trance. She began to pace around the room. "It's amazing how fast and hard a child can fall through it. Trampolines are very dangerous." She rattled on. "Do you know that?"

"I've heard that."

"And they really can be fun but every year there are at least one hundred deaths across the country because of trampoline related accidents." She informed him.

"That's terrible."

"And you know..." She continued. "That me and my sister used to love to play on it when we were younger. My parents bought us one when we were teenagers. We had a lot of fun."

He nodded, not knowing what else to say. "Have you ever been on a trampoline?" She asked.

He watched her, knowing that she was working her way up to the hardest part. "I have.." He blanched, seeing her face turn white, her eyes bleak. He wanted to be close to her, to at least give her the comfort of touch while she told him what had happened. "Come over here." He instructed. "Come sit beside me."

She ignored him and kept walking from the dresser to the window. "The little girl...she fell hard. I mean, her arm was broken about five different ways and she was screaming and screaming..." She began to wring her hands. "Do you know what that kind of sound does to a person? It's awful...really awful to see a child in pain." Her voice rose in pitch and he knew that she was almost there...

"Jamey, sit with me, please."

Again, she ignored him, wrung her hands and shook her head. "And everyone was yelling for us to come and help because we both have had training in first aid...it's good to know first aid." She said un-necessarily . "Everyone should have it in case of an emergency..."

He felt the beginning of tears sting his eyes as he watched her. "I know, honey. I know."

"And Danny was getting A.J. ready for the swimming part of the party. But when the little girl fell, everyone started screaming for us and we ran over...we ran to help her...and it was too late..." She was shaking hard now, and despite the fact that she didn't want to be touched, he rose from the bed and put his hands on her shoulders. "He fell in the pool and the next thing we knew he was floating..." Her voice rose to a hysterical pitch as the tears streamed down her face. "He was floating!" She yelled in his face. " _Dead! _And ...we.. left.. him ..to ...die!"

She fought him. "He's gone! He's dead!"

"Oh, Jamey...baby it wasn't your fault." With tears now making their way down his cheeks, he forced her hands to the sides of her body and held her. "It was not your fault!"

"It was! It was!" She yelled, struggling to get out of his grip. "Let me go!"

"No!" He yelled back, shaking her slightly. He wasn't about to lose the love of his life. Not now and he would do anything to make her believe that she hadn't been neglectful. "It was not your fault!"

She shook her head, ignoring his words.

"It wasn't your fault."

"Stop it!" Her eyes locked with his, her lips trembling. She was angry. She was hurt, but she was finally dealing with the pain of her loss and he wanted to be the man who helped her get through it. "Don't lie to me."

"It's not your fault." He said again, as another tear slid down his cheek. He made no move to wipe it away, only held tighter to her arms. "It's not your fault."

"When are you gonna stop saying that?" She cried. "You're like a broken record!"

"As many times as it takes for you to believe it!" He yelled back. "I love you and I want to live the rest of my life with you and I will not let you keep believing that you killed him! That's bullshit! It's bullshit!" He was breathing heavy, nostrils flaring, and now, was as angry as she. "If you were to blame than you'd been in jail. What happened was a mistake...a _terrible_..._terrible_...mistake! But you have to stop blaming yourself because it wasn't your fault!"

"You can't want to be with me...you just can't." She cried, this time more weakly, defeated. She'd stopped struggling, and he had the feeling that if he let her go she'd sink to the floor.

"I can and I will." He said bluntly. "I want to be with you for the rest of my life." He let one hand go and lifted her face so he could see her eyes. "Jamey...it's you and me_. Forever. _Period. End of sentence."

"Why? How can you still want to be with me?" She closed her eyes, ashamed.

"Jamey...do you love me?"

"Of course I do." She opened her eyes, reached up and ran a hand over his unshaven cheek. "I love you more than I've ever loved anyone before."

His heart swelled and he had to take a moment to swallow, less he start to cry again. "Than _live_ with me_. Live _for me and I'll live for you."

"Are you sure you want to be with me?" She asked softly. "Because I couldn't take it if you changed your mind. I just couldn't cope, so please, please be sure that you want me."

"Darlin, you were made for me. There's no one else on this earth that moves me the way you do. That makes me want, that makes me need. You're everything I've ever wanted."

He grabbed her into a bear hug. This time she didn't struggle, only cried and held him as tight as he held her. "I love you, Nick. I love you." She wound her arms around his neck and held on.

"Marry me." He mumbled into her hair.

She pulled back. "What?"

He narrowed his eyes, considered what he was about to ask. "Marry me. Be my wife."


	38. Making Memories of Us

Author's Note: Song is by Keith Urban...such a good song and it's all I could think about when I wrote this chapter.

**Chapter 38: Making Memories of Us**

She wasn't sure she heard him right; Wasn't sure that it wasn't a hallucination from the deepest corners of her brain; but when she drew back and saw the sincerity and the love etched in his dark brown eyes, she knew. Knew that he was serious, perhaps more serious than he'd ever been in his entire life–only this time she wasn't scared.

However, the thought that he hadn't fully thought through what he had asked begun to sink in...to scare her. What if he changed his mind later on? How would she cope with another loss? She wanted to say yes before either of them could change their minds, but her mouth couldn't form the words, and so, she started to do what she had learned to perfect in the months past—try moving him away before he took a step back himself.

"Nick..." She swallowed, but couldn't say anything more...and she knew that he was waiting. Her own heart hammered in her chest...thump...thump...thump...as she blinked back the beginning of tears. "I...I'm not sure you're thinking clearly..."

He shook his head, maybe trying to clear his thoughts or get the nerve to continue on. From her perspective he looked more determined than she'd ever seen. "Jamie...I'm serious about wanting to marry you." He let his hand run down her arm, and grabbing her's he led her back to the bed. Only when she sat down facing him did he continue. "To tell you the truth I knew the first time I saw you that I would fall in love with you and I'm sorry that I just blurted it out that way...when I don't even have a ring to give you...but it's how I feel. I want to be with you for the rest of my life. I want to build a life with you...and if you don't want to have any more children than I'll understand...but at least give me the chance to make you happy."

Before she could say a word he stood up and walked over to the cd player that was sitting on top of one of his dressers. He fiddled for a moment trying to find what he was looking for. "That's it!" Triumphantly, and somewhat nervously, he held up a case and grinned at her. "This will say it all." He predicted, opening the player and putting it inside. He pressed play and skipped to the song he was looking for, then came back and sat down beside her, taking her hand into his. "I bought this because every time I hear this song I think of you. I think of the man I can be for you." He said softly. "The man I know I can be."

When the guitar began she could feel her heartstrings tugging, urging her to see the sweetness, the tenderness of the situation–urging her to let him in. And when the unmistakable voice of Keith Urban filled the room, even though she had heard the song a million times, it was as if she was listening to it for the first time.

_I gonna be here for you baby_

_I'll be a man of my word_

_Speak the language in a voice that you have never heard_

_I want to sleep with you forever_

_I want to die in your arms_

_In a cabin by a meadow_

_where the wild bees swarm_

_And I'm gonna love you_

_Like nobody loves you_

_And I'll earn your trust_

_makin memories of us_

_I want to honor your mother_

_I want to learn from your Pa_

_I want to steal your attention_

_like a bad outlaw_

_I want to stand out in a crowd for you_

_a man among men_

_I want to make your world better_

_than it's ever been_

_I'm gonna love you_

_like nobody loves you_

_And I'll earn your trust_

_making memories of us_

_We'll follow the rainbow_

_where ever the four winds blow_

_there'll be a new day_

_coming your way_

_I'm gonna be here for you from now_

_this I know somehow_

_You've been stretched to the limits _

_but it's all right now_

_I'm gonna make you a promise_

_If there's life after this_

_I'm gonna be there to meet you_

_with a warm wet kiss_

_and I'm gonna love you_

_like nobody loves you_

_and I'll earn your trust _

_making memories of us_

_I'm gonna love you like nobody loves you_

_and I'll win your trust makin memories of us_

And when it was over he reached and traced his finger over her cheek, over the wetness that had been left there by two single tears, the only tears she'd allow to fall. "I can't tell you that I won't ever disappoint you–and I can't tell that I'm perfect because I'm not–but what I can tell you is that I will love you every single day for the rest of my life."

What could she say?

"I don't know what to say, Nick..." She said softly. "Are you sure that this is what you want? We haven't been together very long."

He sighed. "Do you know what?"

"What?"

"We've known each other for almost two years–and we've lived together every single day–don't you think that counts for something?"

She furrowed her brow. "What do you mean?"

"Think about it, Jame." He said earnestly. "We've gotten to know each other in the best way–the way that counts more than any other."

"And what way is that?"

"Friendship." He grinned. "We had nothing to hide..." He grinned wider. "Well...some of us were longer opening up than others..." He teased. "But we could always be ourselves around each other and I think that's what is most important. You can take you time to decide but no matter how long it takes I'll be waiting for you to give me an answer."

"You don't need to wait." She said somberly, causing the grin to vanish and his eyes to widen in expectation. "I know what the answer is."

He waited with baited breath, with a longing so deep in his heart he felt like it might break if she didn't say what he needed to hear. "Jamie...what is it?" He asked. "You're killin me here, darlin."

She closed her eyes for a long moment, hoping, praying that she was making the right decision; the decision that would be best for both of them. And when she opened her eyes, the green, now almost a velvet, were sparkling.

"You've got a deal cowboy."

"Is that a yes?"

She nodded. "Yes...I'll marry you. Today, tomorrow, whenever. I'll be your wife."


	39. Come Together

Grissom looked up at the sound of a loud, annoyed knock on the door and pushed the form he had just signed aside. "Yes?" He knew who it was even before he raised his head.

He'd been expecting such a visit and he knew that it most likely wouldn't be a nice calm conversation. Sara Sidle had always challenged him every step of the way when it came to him being her boss; She asked a million questions, wanted to know his reasoning for everything he did. Most of the time he would be patient with her–but for some reason today was not that day.

Sara stuck her head inside and smiled flatly at him, not disguising her contempt for coming into work early. "I'm here. You got the file?" The gap in her teeth barely showed as she drew her lips into a tight line.

He nodded, knowing that there really wasn't much he could say to alleviate her mood. "It's all here..." He replied, pushing a closed file across the desk. "Parents names, address, TOD. All of it."

She stepped into the room, pushing the door back fast and hard, so hard that it hit the wall with a clang. He flicked his gaze to the ceiling then back down at her. Wearing a black t-shirt that sat snugly across her chest and a pair of matching black jeans, she was all legs as her slim body marched over to his desk and picked up the file. A body that he still dreamed about at night–a woman that he knew had loved him when he could never love her the way she needed him to. It still stung, he realized, the way she would look at him from time to time, as if to say 'Why don't you want me?' So, instead of taking a leap he'd alienated her, the way he did with most others...and now she was angry.

"Sara?" He asked tiredly. "Is there a problem?"

She raised her brows quizzically as if she couldn't believe what he was asking of her. "You want _me_ to call them?"

He nodded a second time. "Yes, Sara, I do. You can call as soon as you're done processing."

She snorted and pounded a thigh with her unoccupied hand and shook her head angrily. "_Why_?" She challenged him openly. " I'm the Primary on this case. We don't call families, Gris."

"You do when I tell you to." He answered somewhat impatiently. He pushed his glasses up and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"We do?" She rolled her eyes and puckered her mouth. "Who else did you ask lately to notify next of kin?"

He cocked his head to the side; If he didn't do something about her attitude it would go on forever. It wasn't that he didn't like Sara—he loved her–although no one, including her, knew that—but she continuously pushed his buttons and tested him and it wasn't something that he could let go on forever. He was, after-all, her supervisor and it didn't do either of them any good to continue on that way.

He stood, grabbed his thin cotton coat off the back of the chair and proceeded to stuff his arms through the sleeves, all the while matching her glare. "The last time I checked I was still the Supervisor around here..." He made a sweeping motion with his hands as he walked around the desk. "and until this becomes _your_ office you can keep your questions to yourself and do your job."

And with that he walked out the door, leaving a totally–for once–speechless Sara Sidle in his wake.

CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI

Warrick and Tracy had decided that the best thing to do was see if they could find Jim Brass and try and get an address on Julia Kent. If there was anyone who could find her it would be Jim. Even though they had had some rough patches and differences throughout the years Warrick respected Jim like a father. He may not have always made the decisions that Warrick would have made but he did do the best he could with what he had.

The ride to the station had been quiet and uncomfortable for both Tracy and Warrick. After the fight with Catherine he was left feeling angry, heart-broken and sullen. Tracey sat across from him chewing her fingernail and casting small glances in his direction.

"Are you sure you don't mind doing this?" She asked again. "You can just drop me off if you want."

He sighed and threw a look in her direction. "Nah. It's fine. Keeps my mind off of other things." His face looked like it had been chiseled out of granite; he kept chewing on the inside of his cheek and the muscles in his jaw kept flexing and un-flexing.

"I'm sorry about what happened at the restaurant." She said softly. "I shouldn't have held on to your hand like that."

"_Don't _apologize." He said somewhat sharply. "She doesn't trust me and she never will." He glanced over at her again. "You didn't do anything wrong. Neither of us did. She just can't trust men and there's nothing I can do to change that."

"She must of been really hurt by someone in her past." Tracy threw in. "Once trust is broken it can take a lifetime to repair it."

"You speaking from experience?"

"Not my experience, but someone close to me."

"Jamey, huh?" He guessed. "She's never told any of us anything about her past, you know." He revealed. "I worry about her and I hope that Nick will finally get her to open up. If anyone can it will be him."

"Does he love her?"

Warrick considered his words, not knowing what had transpired between his friends. "I think the two of them are perfect for each other. I know they're in love but it'll be a different story getting the two of them to clue in."

"Danny–that was her fiance–he cheated on her with his partner and when he came clean I think she knew there was no way to ever repair it." Tracey admitted, staring out the window at the casinos and tourists as they passed. "She couldn't stay with him and he couldn't understand why she couldn't see past it."

"I don't know how any one could cheat on your sister."

"Sometimes things happen I guess." Was all she would say.

"Ya. I guess they do."

CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI

"So are you gonna show me where she lives or not?" Finding out that Tracy was in Vegas to find her cousin Julia was, at the very least, a shock to Danny–and he was quickly learning that the only hope he had of finding Tracy, and now Julia, was through the man whom he doubted knew the truth about anything. Danny didn't know much about Julia, had never met her, but had heard plenty through the years–and none of it had been good.

Preston Grey leaned back in the ratty leather chair behind his desk and locked his hands behind his head. "I can show you, pal." He said smugly. "But you have to show me the money first."

Danny could hardly believe that he was about to shell out money to the disgusting, vile little man who sat in front of him. He could feel his blood pressure rising with every minute he spent in his company. "How much?" He asked between gritted teeth.

"Thought you'd never ask." Grey quickly sat forward and bit down on his lower lip. "Cost is three hundred."

"Are you kiddin me, guy?" Danny hissed. "Justa show me where she lives?"

"Depends on how bad ya wanna find her."

"Wait a minute." Danny sat forward. "How do I know that you even know Julia or where she could be? How do I know that I can trust you?"

"Because I know Julia personally." He answered–not pleased that he'd had to resort to giving out information that was better left unsaid. In his line of work he'd met plenty of working girls, even taken their services more than he'd care to admit–to anyone. He didn't like the attitude of the New Yorker–didn't like the way he walked, talked, spoke. "And I've been to her place."

"Oh ya? You like hookers?" Danny threw at him.

Grey's eyes narrowed. "How'd you know what she does?"

"I just know."

"Maybe_ you_ like hookers."

"Like a hole in the head." Danny bit back. He stood and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Listen, if you want to play games than I'll be movin on to the police station and I'll be sure to let them know that you know her too. How'd that be?"

Grey rose as well, some of the smugness gone out of his eyes. "Fine. I'll show you where she lives. No need ta get the cops involved."

"And the price?" Danny asked again. "Two hundred?"

"Fine." The word was angry, clipped. "You drive a hard bargin New York."

"You have no idea."

And neither of them had any idea as to the events that would transpire later that day that would bring two people together and rip two apart.


	40. On Our Way

Jim Brass snapped his cell shut and cursed under his breath. Damn rookie cops making his life hell again. He could never understand why they came to the department as stupid as when they had come in; A Veteran officer, he knew the pressures that new cops were under...but the mistakes they made were monumental and sometimes downright detrimental to cases they were trying to close.

Case in point: His new officer, Jeff Gallant, had forgotten to lock the handcuffs on a perp that he had picked up–and the guy had escaped. Now, the head of P.D. was breathing down his neck–wanting to know all the details, wanting to know how one of 'his guys', could do something so stupid. Granted, Gallant had only been on the street for over a month and was nervous–but forgetting to lock the handcuffs? That was just plain stupid.

Now, Brass had finished putting the poor newbie on a two day suspension and sent him out of his office with his tail tucked between his legs. The ringing of the phone on his desk brought him out of his reverie. He picked up the receiver, held it tightly in his hand.

"Ya?" He snarled.

"Jim?"

"What?"

The voice hesitated on the other end. "It's Sara."

"Okay..." His voice was irritated, impatient.

"Sidle." Her tone was a little clipped.

"What can I do for you, Sara?"

"I was wondering if you had the address on our Vic yet?"

"Which one?" He asked dryly, sitting down heavily at the desk, and picking up a blue ball point pen. He doodled absently on the side of the phone book.

"Julia Kent."

"Which one is that again?" In the last hour he'd had two John Doe's and three Jane Does...and that didn't count the ones he had names for. He was over-run and under paid and he felt like he was being stretched too thin.

He could hear her sigh. "The hooker we found over on Doncaster ave...Jamey Kent's cousin?"

He stopped scrawling, and sat back. "The hooker is Jamey's cousin?" He took a deep breath before she could answer. "Does Jamey know?"

"She does. Nick took her home and I just called the Vics parents. They'll be here as early as they can." Sara confirmed. "But I was wondering if you had an address

yet?"

He looked down and grabbed a folder from the huge stack that had begun to monopolize the entire left corner of the huge oak desk and flipped it open. " Well...I have what we think may be a last known address...one of the other 'ladies'–he used the term loosely–"thought that she was down on Oak Drive...it's the next street over..." He ran his index finger down the page. "Uh...it's number 40, apartment 6."

Sara's tone was incredulous. "You mean you still haven't checked it out yet?"

He sighed, rubbed a weary hand over his face and spoke in a manner much like a tired father would to his teenage daughter. "Sara...we just found her...we don't have a lot to go on...but I'll meet you over there right away if you'd like. I was just about to go anyway."

"So no one processed the apartment yet?"

"No one's been there." He confirmed, standing up and grabbing his suit jacket off the back of the chair.

"Okay. I'll be there." She said.

He resisted the urge to walk out the front door and not come back. Ever.

Instead, he grabbed a large cup of coffee from the dispenser. He made his way to the brown Taurus that the department had issued and got inside. The heat was enough to make the average person, one who was healthy and had no problems with blood pressure, feel like they were gonna melt.

"It's gonna be a long day."

CSICSICSICSICSICSI

When Warrick and Tracy got to the station she stayed in the car while he ran inside. When Jim wasn't in his office, Warrick went to reception. "Hi Jen." He greeted the thirty-ish blond behind the desk. "Do you know where Jim is?"

In another time, another place perhaps, he would have considered asking her out. She was a very nice woman. He liked the way her blue eyes widened every time she saw him, liked the way that her cheeks turned hot when she looked at him. He knew he effected her just by speaking. He also knew it was unfair to make her think he was going to ask her out—so he continually acted polite and friendly.

She smiled up at him–it was no secret that she had a crush. Nervously she smoothed her hand over the front of the pale blue skirt she was wearing, then once down over the matching blazer. "Hi Warrick–he's actually out."

He leaned over the counter in front of the desk, putting an elbow on the smooth surface. "Do you know where?"

She grinned. "I may know." She raised a perfectly arched sandy brow. "Are you on the clock?"

"Nope." He gave her his best pleading look. "But I really do need to see him. It's really important."

"I'm not supposed to tell you where he is if you're not working, Warrick." She said hesitantly. She reached up and tucked a strand of blond hair behind her delicate ear. "He may be angry."

"I know. I'm sorry." He leaned closer, locked his gaze on hers. "Jen, I have to see him. It's serious...he won't be mad when he sees me...and I won't even tell him that you told me...please?"

She looked down at her notepad. "He's gone with Sara Sidle to open up an apartment of a Jane Doe they found over on Doncaster...oh...do you have his new cell number?"

His eyes widened. "No..when did that change? I called him this morning...that's why he didn't answer, huh?"

"Ya. Department had to issue a new one."

"Well, that makes sense then."

She ripped off a piece of paper and wrote down the address and new cell number. "Here you go." She said softly, handing it over.

"Thanks. I owe you one." He said, giving her a small wink.

Before she could respond, his back was turned and he was out the door, leaving her wishing that she could have said something intelligent...something more. Before she could dwell on it the phone rang.

"Las Vegas Police Department..."

CSICSICSICSICSI

"I _want_ to go."

"I don't know if that's the best thing to do, Jame..."

"Nick—" Her voice held a warning.

"_Jamey_–" His voice was strained and frustrated.

" I need to go and see her things." She walked around him and opened her dresser drawer and pulled out a fresh tank top and a pair of shorts. "I want to..."

He was standing in front of the bed, arms crossed over his chest, a scowl on his face. They'd been arguing ever since she had gotten off the phone with Grissom. He'd given her the address and told her that as long as she didn't touch anything or do anything job related that she could go to the apartment.

He knew he was fighting a losing battle either way. When she'd made up her mind there was no going back. "Well...can I at least go with you?" He held his hands out to her. "Or do you think you're going alone?"

She pulled on the shirt and turned to face him. "If you want to." She said hoarsely. She'd been crying almost non-stop ever since they had found out that Julia was dead. Quite frankly, Nick didn't know how much more she could take before she reached the breaking point–again.

"What about your parents?" He asked.

"What about them?"

"Aren't you going to call them?"

"I have to do this first."

"Okay. Fine."

"Fine." She echoed.

He walked over to his own dresser and got out some fresh clothes. When they were both ready he grabbed the keys to his Denali and they exited the building and walked out into the intense heat.

He read the address off of the paper that she'd given him and pulled his sunglasses over his eyes. She sat beside him chewing on her fingernail. Her posture was tense and from the way that her leg pumped up and down beside him, he knew that they were making a mistake. But she had made her choice. She wanted to go.

But he still could not shake the terrible sense of foreboding that something was very wrong...that something bad was about to happen.


	41. Chapter 41

Doncaster Avenue was about a twenty minute drive from the apartment complex. Nick couldn't imagine anyone wanting to live remotely near where they were going–not by choice anyway. The dirty part of town, which wasn't saying much, was located in between a strip mall and a cluster of porn shops. The closer they got the more nervous Jamey became. The observant part of him did not miss the fact that she had tied and untied her pony-tail six times in the span of fifteen minutes or that she had bitten her pinky nail down to the quick...followed by her left thumb nail.

He chose not to comment.

Not a word was spoken between the pair, not even when they went through the Duncan Donuts drive-thru and he handed her a large coffee. The silence was getting to him. Lord knew he deserved more, but wanting and getting were two different things.

He couldn't blame her for feeling anxious and upset, but what he felt he had the right to blame her for was the fact that she had kept so much of her life from him. So many people, places and things that he had never known existed. If Jamey was feeling a myriad of feelings at that moment, so was he. They had gone from pure agony, to joy and back to heart break all in the matter of twenty-four hours. He hoped that they would survive the days and weeks to come. He was trying to be patient–a trait that had always come naturally to the handsome Texan–but even he wasn't a saint. He was starting to feel the slow burn that was likely to irrupt into full-blown temper. She had to come clean about her past, he decided. Marriage would never work if she couldn't be honest with him. Hell, he'd been more than honest with her and told her things that were embarrassing and worse. Kristy, the hooker with whom he'd had a short fling, being the hardest thing to tell—but he'd told her. That was the whole point.

He understood intimacy. Knew what it was and wasn't. Knew that if you didn't have it, it was practically giving the relationship a failing grade before the first report card. Granted, it did take time to achieve, but it did happen to couples who wanted to share themselves with one another. He had never wanted it more.

The sound of Jamey choking on her coffee interrupted him from his reverie. He looked over at her just in time to see her eyes bulge and the liquid ooze out of her nose. Then she coughed hard, and sprayed what was in her mouth onto the dash and windshield.

"Dammit!" Was all she said before taking another coughing fit.

Checking the rear-view mirror and finding traffic clear, he immediately pulled over to the side of the road and put the vehicle in park. He grabbed the cup from her hand and put it in the holder, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud. It was undoubtedly the funniest look he had ever seen on her face. A lusty mix of surprise, disgust and then, embarrassment.

"You okay darlin?" He asked, as she bent her head down toward the floor. He reached over and clapped her on the back.

"Ughhhaaaa." Was the reply. Maybe it was the sound of her voice, all chocked up, or maybe it was the pitiful way it came out. Maybe it was the fact that they both felt like they were drowning, or the stress of the last few weeks. Either way, despite the gravity of the situation, he knew he had no choice but to surrender to the feeling that was lodged deep in his stomach.

He couldn't stop himself.

As she raised her head and slid back in the seat, she glanced over at him and he lost it. What started as a hearty laugh soon became an all-out male howl, complete with tears and snorting sounds.

"Hey!" She feigned hurt, slapping him on the shoulder. "It's _not _funny!" Her voice was croaky and gravelly–and it only made him laugh harder.

He shook his head. "No. Not at _all_."

Her eyes widened as she attempted to wipe off her mouth and nose. "It wasn't! I could have choked to death!"

"Darlin', no one in this car would let you die." He giggled again. "Death by coffee. Has a nice ring to it don't you think?"

"Shut up, Billy Ray." She snapped.

"Yessss mamm.." He mock saluted her, still grinning.

"I must look like a bag lady." She mused.

"You're half right."

"Huh?" She cocked her head to the side and waited for it.

It was a good thing, because he planned on his delivery. She could see it on his face.

He widened his eyes and emphasized his words by waggling his eyebrows. "You _look_ like a bag lady–but you _sound _like Jabba the Hut." He winked at her, then promptly broke out into another chorus of laughter.

Flipping down the visor she took a good look at her face and, now, bloodshot eyes. She slapped him again, and despite herself, felt her resolve slipping, as the corners of her mouth turned down, and she broke out into laughter.

For exactly one minute and thirteen seconds nothing else could be heard but their laughter. It felt good and they'd both needed it.

He rested his head on the steering wheel and took a deep breath. "That, my dear, is called comic relief".

CSICSICSICSI

"Finally." Grumbled Sara Sidle, as she watched Jim Brass pull into the shabby driveway of the run-down apartment building. It wasn't like she didn't have other cases to be working on. Granted, this was a relative of Jamey Kent. And she was dead, so a little consideration wouldn't kill me, she thought to herself. Lately, all she had wanted to do instead of working over-time and listening to her police scanner, was spend time with Greg. Funny how life had worked out. But she was in love and now living life. She finally felt like she was balanced. She had worked hard to get it and it was something she never intended to let it go.

She didn't acknowledge the sharp tooting of the horn, indicating that the Detective was here, and instead reached down and grabbed her kit from the sidewalk and walked over to the Taurus as it came to a heaving stop.

"Hello, Sara." Jim stepped out, mopping his brow with an old white hankey, and fell into step with her as they started toward the back of the building.

"Um...I've been waiting..." She began–only to be cut off mid-sentence.

"Oh yes! Let me guess–" He dead-panned. "You've been waiting for me all this time while I've been sitting on my ass just taking a break, right?"

"No.." She blanched, then closed her mouth.

"I've taken three radio calls since I got off the phone with you–and that's not counting the other eleven I took since I got into the office this morning– so let's just get the show on the road shall we?"

"Sure thing." She mumbled under her breath, as she followed him in the glass doors and down a long hallway en-route to the apartment of the deceased. The building had seen better days, she noticed, as they trudged along the filthy, smelly carpet that should have been torn up years ago. Graffiti covered every inch of what was once white walls. Garbage was liberally scattered here and there and the stench of rotting food was almost overwhelming. Jim grabbed his hankey out of his brown suit and covered his mouth as he located Julia Kent's apartment number.

"We have to call the Super, don't we?" Sara asked.

"He's on his way."

Sara leaned against the door jamb, then thought better of it. No telling what kind of disease one could catch in a place like this. She could feel the perspiration running down her back. The heat was un-godly, even this early in the day.

Suddenly, Jim cocked his head to the side. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Like a thumping noise?"

"From where?"

He rolled his eyes and nodded toward the apartment. "In here." He listened again and this time they both heard it. Sara's eyes locked with Jim's.

He went to turn the knob at the same time as he pulled his gun, while motioning for Sara to do the same. It wasn't locked and Jim swung it open with enough force for the knob on the other end to break into the plaster wall and stay there.

"This is the Las Vegas Police! Come out with your hands up!" He yelled. They both swept inside and found themselves in the livingroom of a very small, very dirty apartment that stunk of rotten take-out and dirty diapers. A playpen was crammed into the corner by the window. Sara noticed the brown carpet was full of baby toys and clothes.

"Hello?" They heard a male voice call from down a short hallway.

"This is the police!" Jim re-iterated. "Come out with your hands up!"

"I'm comin', I'm comin'." Came a thick New York accent. Seconds later a man of medium height and weight came around the corner into the room, his hands held up. He was handsome, Sara noted, with brown hair and glasses and nice build. He wore a New York Yankees baseball cap backwards on his head and sneakers on his feet. He was casual and definitely not the type to be in a place like this.

"Who the hell are you?" Jim barked.

"What difference does that make?" The young man replied testily. "I"m not doin anything wrong."

"I'll make that judgement. Now, this is official police business and you're in the home of a murdered woman." Jim supplied. "You can tell me your name here or down at the station." He barred his teeth. "And personally, I prefer the station."

" My name is Danny Messer. I"m a C.S.I. from New York City." He explained, looking from one to the other. Sara glanced at Jim and raised an eyebrow. Interesting. "I'm looking for the girl who lives here. Her name is Julia Kent." What Jim had said seemed to jar him. " Wait—did you say murdered?"

"How do you know Ms. Kent?" Brass asked instead of answering the question.

"Can I put my hands down now?"

"You got any I.D.?"

"In my back pocket."

"Sara." Jim nodded. "Check it out."

While Sara looked for the I.D. Danny could feel himself start to panic. "Did you say that Julia is dead?"

Brass didn't see any harm in letting him know the truth. He nodded.

This time, Danny didn't ask permission to drop his hands. His legs gave out from under-neath him and he sank to the floor. "Are you sure?" He looked up at Brass as if he didn't believe it. "Positively sure?"

"I'm positive." Jim confirmed. "Now before you ask me anymore questions there's a few that I want you to answer for me."

"Sure. Anything."

"What the hell are you doing here?'

"Ya!" A voice from behind them echoed. Jim and Sara both spun around to see Warrick Brown and a girl who looked exactly like Jamey Kent entering the apartment. "What the hell are you doing here?'

"Tracey!"

"Danny!"

"Warrick!" Jim barked. "What the hell is going on here?"


	42. Because of You

Author's note: Thanks to everyone who is still reading this. I've had no internet for months...so be patient. The song is by Kelly Clarkson and I thought it may interpret how Danny must have felt. But, not to worry, this story is almost over...

_**Because of you**_

It had been a long time coming. Neither of them had known, couldn't have known, the exact day or time when they would meet again. Both of them had thought from time to time, wondered what it would be like, what that moment would hold if they ever got to lay eyes on one another again. Joy? Or anger, hurt and betrayal? The latter certainly made more sense.

For Danny, the days and nights since she had left had held nothing but a certain kind of torture. A dismal abyss, if you will, filled with guilt and self loathing. He had never forgiven himself, nor her, for A.J's death. Because of you, he thought to himself. Because of you, I can't live. I can't move on. He seriously wondered if he would ever be whole again. Simply put, Danny couldn't move on, couldn't give anyone else his heart, his mind, his feelings nor his life. He had given them away and had never gotten them back. Jamey Kent had held his heart in the palm of her hand and as far as he was concerned, she had closed her hand and he had bled out. Never to recover.

_I will not make the same mistakes that you did._

_Honey, I will not let myself cause my heart such much misery._

_I will not break the way you did, you fell so hard._

_I learned the hard way to never let it get that far._

_Because of you I never stray too far from the sidewalk._

_Because of you I learned to play on the safe side so I won't get hurt._

_Because of you I find it hard to trust not only me but everyone around me,_

_because of you I am afraid._

_I lose my way and it's too long before you point it out._

_I cannot cry because I know that's weakness in your eyes._

_I'm forced to fake a smile, a laugh, everyday of my life._

_My heart can't possibly break when it wasn't even whole to start with._

_Because of you I never stray too far from the sidewalk._

_Because of you I learned to play on the safe side so I won't get hurt._

_Because of you I find it hard to trust not only me but everyone around me,_

_because of you I am afraid._

_I watched you die. I heard you cry every night in your sleep._

_I was so young you should have known better than to lean on me._

_You never thought of anyone else, you just saw your pain._

_And now I'm crying in the middle of the night, doing the same damn thing._

_Because of you I never stray too far from the sidewalk._

_Because of you I learned to play on the safe side so I won't get hurt._

_Because of you try my hardest just to forget anything._

_Because of you I don't know how to let anyone else in._

_Because of you I'm ashamed of my life because it's empty._

_Because of you I am afraid._

_Because of you._

_Because of you._

As Danny stood and tried to make sense of what was happening, all he could think about was calling Michael Kent and delivering the news. More bad news. More heart-ache. It seemed that no matter how far he went to try and make amends, it was never good enough. He felt trapped and vulnerable.

His stomach felt queasy as he tried to answer the grouchy detective's questions. He already felt like a louse for letting the ass give Tracey the news of Julia's death, even before he had gotten a chance to speak. Now, she was sitting quietly and crying softly. An African American man stood by her side, his hand on her shoulder. Danny wondered who this 'Warrick' guy was and how he knew Tracey. And so, the questions continued as the group stood in a circle in the tiny stinking apartment. Thankfully, the lanky brunette, Sara Sidle, had thought to open the living room window before they all suffocated to death. Now she was nosing around the bedroom.

"...And so you just hopped on a plane and came down here to find this cousin?" Brass rattled off in an impatient voice.

"Ya." He nodded. " I did."

"And how did you get in here?"

"Ah...I found this private detective named Preston Gray." Danny answered, ignoring the groan that emitted from Warrick at the mention of the name. "He had the key. He let me in and he left."

"Preston Gray is a scum-bag." Brass lectured. "The only thing he detects is the smell of money and hookers. I'd be interested in finding out how he knew Julia and why the hell he'd have a key to her apartment."

He turned to Tracey, who was now perching on the side of the dirty sofa. "Your dad called me. He was beside himself about you missing. Why the hell didn't you at least tell him where you were going, Trace?"

She sighed, and her eyes began to water again. "I didn't think I'd be here that long. All I was doing was meeting her here in Vegas and we were going to fly home together." Tracey looked at Jim. "She was going to start over this time. Really make a change. I could hear it in her voice. She said that this time was going to be different."

"What do you think she meant by that?" Sara asked, as she came back into the room carrying a picture frame in her hand.

Tracey bit down on her lower lip, thinking. "I'm not sure. But she said she had something to live for. Something that had changed her life and she wanted me to see for myself when I got here."

"Who is Darcy?"

"Who?"

"Darcy." Sara repeated.

"I don't know anyone by that name."

"Are you sure?"

Starting to get upset, Tracey stood up and swiped her forehead with the back of her hand. The day, the heat, the news had all caught up with her. "Of course I"m sure! If I knew I'd tell you!" She turned to Jim, who was obviously mesmerized by the uncanny resemblance between Jamey and her sister. "Why are you treating me like I"m a suspect? I'm here to help. I've just found out that my cousin is dead! And you are badgering me about someone that I don't even know!" Warrick calmly walked over and steered her back toward the couch.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Kent." Jim apologized, his tone softer. He'd always had a thing for pretty women. More so, a real softie for a woman who cried. He hated to see a woman cry. " We're just trying to get to the bottom of this. Ms. Sidle wasn't attacking you personally.

"I'm sorry." Sara said humbly, knowing that the situation was hard. "I'm just trying to figure out who she is."

" Who?"

Sara showed the frame to Jim than handed the frame to Tracey, who looked down at the photo, than back up in shock, unable to speak.. "I think I know what the surprise was." She said. "Now, the only problem is that she's not here."

"A baby? Julia didn't have a baby."

"Are you sure?"

Tracey sputtered. " Uh...well...no...I can't be sure...but she would have said something to me." She traced the face of a beautiful little girl who looked to be about six months old with her fingertip. The silver frame had been engraved with the name "Darcy Rhys".

"Do you think it was possible that Julia did have this baby?"

"Anything is possible, Sara." Warrick said. "We need to call Doc Robbins and get him to check. That's the first step. Then we need to find that baby."

"Well, look no further."

The group all turned to see an elderly woman in her early seventies enter the apartment with a baby girl in her arms. She was about five feet tall, but what she lacked in height, they were soon to find out, she made up for with her nasally, high-pitched voice. She wore a blue house-dress and scruffy slippers. Her shock of dyed red hair was in curlers and a lit cigarette dangled from her mouth. The room fell silent.

Finally, Jim gained his composure. "Las Vegas Police, ma''am. And you are?"

"Ah...never mind who the hell I am." She grumbled, looking everyone over. "Where the hell is Julia?"

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but Julia was found murdered."

No response. "Ah...well...that's too bad." The stony blue eyes had no sympathy. Only a bleak, coldness that was surprising to see. Dead eyes.

"And you are?" Jim asked again.

"Mrs. Perkins. I'm the sucker of a neighbor who agreed to watch this stinkin kid." She took a final drag of her cigarette and dropped it on the carpet and stubbed it out with her slipper. "I don't know how she could stand it. This Darcy here, all she does is cry when she's with me. Makes it a little hard to hear my shows."

"I wonder why." Danny mumbled under his breath.

"You shouldn't drop that there..." Sara suggested.

"What's it matter now? You see the dump that she lived in. That girl mustof been raised by pigs." Mrs. Perkins decided, with a shake of her head, oblivious to the nasty stare that was now coming from Tracey Kent. "This is what this place always looks like. Imagine." She looked at Warrick and flashed a cold smile. He felt revolted, and turned his head, rolling his eyes at Brass. "Now I'll tell you all something! She left the kid here three days ago..coun't 'em..." She held up a free hand and extended three fingers. "Three days! And now you folks come in here and make all this noise! Someone betta take this rotten kid from me right now cause I've had it!" She screeched. The baby started to squirm and cry. Immediately, Tracey stood and pulled Darcy out of her arms, appalled.

"I hope that you don't think for one minute that I'm keeping that kid a second longer!"

"Hell no." Tracey fumed, cradling Darcys blond head to her breast. The baby stopped crying and nuzzled in close.

Mrs. Perkins mouth went slack. "What did you say?"

Tracey narrowed her eyes. "I said, HELL NO, lady. You don't need to worry about that shift any longer. I wouldn't leave my dog with you." Warrick, impressed by Tracey's fiery temper, had to turn his head to keep from laughing.

"Is that the thanks I get?" Mrs. Perkins face screwed up in a tight bunch. "I looked after that thing all the time and now you think you can come in here and disrespect me?"

"I'll do whatever the hell I want." Tracey said cooly. "This little girl is my cousin. I'll take her from here."

"Well...good enough!" She spat back, and turned to leave.

"Mrs. Perkins, we may have some more questions for you." Jim spoke up. "We'll be in touch."

"Humph..." She turned up her nose and walked out, not bothering to shut the door.

"Wow!" Danny said. "Now that is someone who makes Bin Laden look like a choir boy."

Sara walked over and stood next to Tracey. "At least now we know where she is. We need to get her checked over and then call Social Services, I guess."

Tracey's head shot up. "Social Services? I don't think so." She said indignantly. "Uh uh...no way."

"You want to take her?" Sara asked.

"Well, we're not giving her to someone else!"

"We can figure all of this out later, ladies." Jim stepped in. "Julia's parents were called. They were on the way here. Before we go telling them about this baby, we need to do a maternity test. We don't want to be making mistakes here. He glanced over at Warrick. "Why don't you take Tracey and the baby to the hospital and get her checked out, make sure everything's on the up-and-up, okay? Then take her to Robbins. He can get her DNA. I'll call him and let him know you'll be there soon."

"She's Julia's." Tracey murmured softly to no one in particular. "She looks exactly like her."

Warrick nodded. "That sound good to you?"

"Ya. Anything's better than staying here." Tracey leaned down and kissed the top of the baby's head and Warrick felt his heart constrict. If things had have gone the way they were supposed to, he might have had a baby girl next year...

"Let's get her things." He said softly.

"No." She decided with a shake of her head. "She's gonna have new stuff. All new stuff." She looked up at Danny. "You want to come with?"

He shook his head. "Nah. You go. I'll catch up with you later. I want to stay with these guys." He looked at Jim. "That okay?"

"Sure. No problem." Jim pulled out his cell phone and walked down the hall. Danny walked over to Tracey and ran his hand over Darcy's back. " She sure is a looker, huh?"

Tracey started to nod, but when their eyes connected, she felt the pain in his, and she began to cry. Immediately, Warrick removed the, now, sleeping infant from her arms. "I'm gonna take her for some fresh air." He sensed that they needed to be alone and he just wanted to get the hell out of that apartment. It gave him a bad feeling.

Even when he reached the outside of the building and saw Nick and Jamey walking briskly up the sidewalk, his bad feeling intensified. "Guys–you may want to stop a second before going in there–" He called out.

Jamey didn't even notice the baby in his arms. She walked by him as if she hadn't heard. Her mind was in another place and it wasn't open to suggestions at the moment.

"Nick–man–stop a minute!" He said urgently, grabbing Nick by the shoulder with his hand.

"What's wrong?" Nick asked, impatiently. "Can't you see that we're in the middle of something here?"

"Oh ya...you sure are, bro."

"What?" Nick stopped and for the first time noticed the baby. "Who's she?"

"About time you noticed her. "Warrick nodded. "This is Darcy. Jamey's cousin. Julia had a baby."

"Woa...we had no idea."

"Ya...well...nobody else did either. But there's more to this story."

"Okay...let me have it." Nick crossed his arms over his chest and waited. Not many people knew it, but it was something he did when he was extremely stressed.

"Jamey's sister is here. She's inside."

"Her sister?"

"I met her at Crazy Monday's. I've been trying to get a hold of you! You guys don't answer the door or the phone, man!"

"Sorry...we've been busy..." Nick replied lamely, wondering why the sister would be here now. " Look, I gotta run in there."

"There's more."

"What?"

"There's someone else in there too. A C.S.I.."

Nick frowned. "So what?"

"He's from New York. I have no idea why he was here, but he knew Tracey...that's the sister...he knew her really well..."

Warrick's voice started to fade into the background. Nick knew that as well as he knew his own name, the man inside was Jamey's old boyfriend. The boyfriend she hadn't seen since she left New York. She would never be able to handle it.

"Oh God!" Nick started into the building on a dead run.

But it was already too late.


	43. Darkness

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry for what I said." Tracey said, referring to the last conversation that she and Danny had. Warrick had taken the baby and left the apartment, leaving the door ajar. " I never should have bought that bat for him, or at the very least, just not told you about it. It made me feel better...like I was close to him again..."

Danny embraced her with all his strength and felt his own resolve slip. "Shhhh...it's not your fault. It's mine. I was an asshole to you. I couldn't even hear his name." He pulled back and held her by the shoulders so he could look her in the eye. "God, Trace—I miss them so much...it's hard to breathe! I miss Jamey every day of my life and I can't move on. I can't be with anyone else because she is all I think about. I can't even face myself, let alone you or your family." He let go of her and covered his face with his hands. He wouldn't cry. Couldn't cry. But he was closer than he cared to admit.

He felt her soft hands pull on his and he was forced to look at her again. "Danny, when we get home I don't want another two years to go by before I see you again. You have to start living." Her blue eyes, shiny and wet with tears, bore into his own. "You're not living. You're dying."

"I know...I just can't." He shook his head. "I CAN'T..."

"You can!" She implored. "You will. And I'll help you. You're my brother."

His head snapped up. The hurt in his eyes at the word cut her like a knife. The chance at redemption hung over his head like a nose. "You mean you don't think it's my fault? You don't blame me?"

Her eyes grew round. "Blame you? How could we blame you?" She covered her heart with her hands and drew in a deep breath. "How could we–when every second of the day, we are all blaming _ourselves_ for what happened. Mom, dad, me, you and probably more than anyone else–Jamey. We all blamed ourselves. No one has the right to point the finger. It was all of our faults. What happened that day was everyone's worst nightmare. It tore our family apart. It ruined your life and mine and Jameys."

"Wow..." He let out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "I never knew you felt like that."

She attempted a smile. "How would you? You've been in hibernation all this time."

"Ya...I guess you're right."

"Danny?"

"Ya?"

"No matter what, you're still my brother and I love you. We all love you."

He felt the beginning of relief flow through him. Forgiveness. Redemption. Even though he had heard the words, they almost seemed like a joke to him. Could it be possible that he may be able to put it all behind him?

"That means a lot to me, Trace." He began. "...and I love you too...and I..." He stopped in mid sentence as the door to the apartment swung open and there stood Jamey. His jaw dropped and his eyes immediately swelled with tears. "Oh..holy...hell..." He felt like he was going to throw up.

And time fell away.

Everything he had ever loved about her came crashing over him like a tidal wave. Her hair, her eyes, her smile. The way she laughed. The way her face shone like an angel the first time she'd held A.J. in her arms. When everyone else may have seen a woman with disheveled hair, he saw beauty. She looked beautiful in her blue tank top and khaki colored shorts. Her long legs were tanned. Her breasts jutted out beneath the thin shirt. She was still the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. He'd loved her from the second he'd met her. There was no comparison between then and now. He'd love her until the end of time.

Their eyes met. Her green eyes went round as she glanced between him and her sister, shocked to the core to see them, the two people she had hurt the most, besides her parents. Truth be told, she looked like an animal caught in a trap. Her chest began to heave as her heart-rate accelerated and she fought to keep the panic she felt at bay.

"Jamey!" Tracey screeched, overjoyed. "Jamey–you're here! I..." She stopped talking when she saw the look on her younger sisters face. "What's wrong?"

"I..."

"Aren't you glad to see us?"

"I..."

Tracey stepped forward, wanting to reach out and hold her. Sensing that Jamey was about to over-load, Danny put his hand on Tracey's arm and pulled gently. "Just give her a minute." He said softly.

"No...she's here now and she needs to know what's going on..." Tracey argued. "Jamey–where have you been? Did you know that Jules is dead?"

"I...I..." Jamey backed up.

"Did you know that she had a baby?"

"Uh..." Tears began to slide down Jamey's cheeks, but she still could not speak. She was horrified, terrified, and now, being badgered with questions she could not answer.

"Give her a minute, Tracey!" Danny said again, his eyes never leaving Jamey's face. But she wasn't looking at him. She was looking through him.

"Enough time has passed!" Tracey snapped, now angry. "Jamey! How could you leave us like that? How?"

And it was all too much.

Her eyes fluttered and her legs buckled. She hit the floor before anyone could catch her.

CSICSICSI

For two days Jamey had remained unconscious. Given the situation, the doctors agreed that because of the concussion and the mental stress that she had been under, her body and mind had shut themselves down. Everyone from the night shift had been in to sit and wait for her to wake up or to bring food, or just to lend support. Nick had not left her side–a fact that did not go unnoticed by Jamey's parents or her sister.

Tracey and Danny were staying at the hotel, along with her parents, who had flown out immediately when they had heard the news. Both Mike and Sadie Kent had decided that enough was enough: They would not leave Vegas without settling things with their second-born. Things were going to change. They wanted to see where she lived, where she worked. They wanted to meet her friends and see what kind of life she had built for herself. Although, they knew that she would have contacted them if she had been ready, it didn't matter anymore. Fate had dealt its hand. This was the way it would have to be.

All were trying to give support to Julia's parents, Jack and Maria, both of whom were doing surprisingly well. It was if they had always known it would come down to this. And, although they were quite taken by their only grandchild, they both agreed that they were in no position to raise a baby. The question of Social Services was put to rest when Tracey asked permission to keep Darcy with her. They were all sitting around the livingroom suite of Tracey's parents hotel room when the conversation came up.

"That way she'll be in New York and you can see her whenever you want." Tracey had suggested. "We can't give her away." She added, leaning down and kissing the baby's cheek. "She's all we have left of Jules."

"How will you raise her yourself?" Sadie Kent asked softly. "It's not going to be easy."

"She won't be."

Surprised, Tracey–and everyone else-- looked up at Danny. "I won't?"

"Nope. I'm there to help you. All the way."

"Dan..." Mike began. "Do you think this is a good idea? I mean..."

Danny stood up and faced the group of people he knew so well. He loved them all. They were his family, whether or not he had acknowledged it in the past few years and he wanted to know them again. In that moment he understood that this trip, no matter how hard, had been part of some divine plan to change his life. He had shut every one of them out, when all they wanted to do was love him. He hadn't been ready then, but he was sure as hell gonna try now.

"Listen...I know I haven't been around for any of you. I've been in my own world, just trying to forget about Jamey and A.J. And even though I'd give my life to have both of them back, I know that will never happen." He had to look away, for Sadie had started to cry. Mike rose and went to sit beside her. He settled down on the couch and put a strong arm around his wife. Regaining his composure, Danny continued. "You guys are the only family I"ve ever known. It was in your house, with your family, that I learned about love." He took a deep breath. "I want to come home."

Tracey rose, handed Darcy over to Maria Kent and grabbed Danny in a hug. "Welcome home."

CSICSICSI

Sometime in the middle of the second night, Nick woke to hear Jamey's groggy, confused voice.

"Ummmm?" The word was muffled, and he wasn't sure if she was really awake.

He sat up strait and stretched the aching muscles in his back and leaned over to take her hand into his. As hospital chairs went, this one had to be the worst. Granted, he had slept in it for two nights.

"Darlin? I'm here." He whispered tenderly, reaching over to brush a stray lock of hair over her forehead.

He hadn't reached her in time. Could do nothing but lift her off the floor, while the sister and the ex-boyfriend stood by and watched. At least Tracey, the sister, had offered her help. Danny had stood shock still, like he was paralyzed. Nick couldn't even be civil as he cradled Jamey in his arms. He felt so threatened by the very presence of the clean-cut other man, that he could hardly breathe. He knew that he hadn't been prepared to meet this Danny character, and what was even more surprising was the feelings of anger mixed with fear that Nick felt flowing through him like a freight train. If the old boyfriend was here, did that mean that he may leave with Jamey? What if she still loved him? What if she went back to New York and left him in Vegas?

"Don't go!" She cried out, in her delirium.

"I'm still here. Shhhh...shhhh...everything's going to be fine."

"Danny?" She murmured, and gripped his hand a little tighter. "Baby? Is that you?"

He recoiled and pulled his hand back. He couldn't help it. It was definitely not the name he thought he'd hear. Hurt filled his heart, his mind, his lungs. He swallowed the huge lump in his throat. "No, darlin'. It's Nick." He took a deep breath, willing himself to stay calm.

"I hear A.J." She mumbled. "Can you feed him?"

He cleared his throat. He knew that she was halfway between dreaming and being awake, but it didn't hurt any less. "Sure. No problem. I'll get him."

That seemed to settle her and she rolled over onto her side. "I love you forever." She murmured.

Nick leaned back in the chair and cradled his head in his hands. He suddenly couldn't stop laughing. He didn't notice the door of the hospital room open until he saw Warrick step inside.

"What's going on, man?" He asked in a whisper. "You okay?"

Nick snorted and wiped a hand across his eyes. Warrick walked over and clamped a hand over his shoulder. "I'm here." But as soon as he did so, Nick broke down into silent sobs. After a minute or two, he stopped and gained his composure. It was only then that it dawned on him that it was the middle of the night.

"Why are you here?"

"My best friend is here." Warrick replied solemnly. "Sides...I technically don't have a place to live anymore, so I thought I'd wait around here and make sure you were okay."

"Some friend I am!" Nick moaned. "I haven't even been there for you..."

"It's okay. Tell me what's wrong."

Where could he start? "Everything."

"Come on. Let's go down to the cafeteria and get some coffee." He glanced down at his watch. "It's almost five now. It opens in a few minutes."

Nick took a deep breath, not sure of what to do. "What about her?"

"She's gonna be fine." Warrick shook his head. "Man, what about _you_?"

CSICSICSI

By nine o'clock, the hallway outside of Jamey's room was full with friends and family. The only person who hadn't shown up was Danny Messer. He had opted to stay behind. He didn't want to upset Jamey any more than he already had and he knew that he had to see her, but he still wanted to wait until she was released from the hospital. He knew he could help Jack and Maria with the burial preparations and the funeral. He had already been to the morgue with them. He just couldn't face Jamey again. Not yet.

Half a dozen orange plastic chairs were lined up on either side of the door. Warrick and Nick sat with Tracey and Darcy, while Jamey's parents sat on the other, talking to Gil Grissom. After Nick and Warrick had talked, Nick felt much better. He was glad to have his best friend when he needed him the most. The doctor was currently in taking a look at Jamey. When he came out, he announced that she was awake and wanting to see no one but her sister.

"I'm in there next. I don't care what anyone says." Sadie Kent said emphatically. "Not even Jamey."

The rest of the group were hurt, but they understood. Tracey shot Nick a sympathetic look. Warrick had told her what he suspected had been going on between the two. She wasn't a C.S.I., but she didn't need to be to see the way that Nick worried about her sister. "Don't worry about it." She said softly. "I'm sure she will want to see you soon."

Nick nodded, but didn't feel encouraged. Tracey handed Warrick the baby and walked inside. Darcy had taken to Warrick the minute he'd held her. She snuggled against the warmth of his chest and stuck her thumb into her mouth.

"Is there something going on with you and Tracey?" Nick asked casually.

Warrick looked surprised. "No. How could there be?"

"I dunno. You two just seem to like each other."

"Look, man, there's no way I'm getting involved with any other woman again." Warrick said sadly. " I like Tracey. She's a great girl and she's beautiful, but I love Catherine. That's not gonna change."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that."

Nick and Warrick both turned to see Catherine standing about five feet away. She wore no makeup and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. In her white t-shirt and plain faded Levi's, and with white canvas tennis sneakers on her feet, she looked like a teenager.

"I'm so glad to hear that." She slowly walked closer, her eyes locked with Warricks. Her eyes were pleading and her voice was soft. "I thought I'd lost you forever."

Warrick swallowed hard and without asking, handed Darcy over to Nick. He stood up and faced her. It didn't matter that they were in public, in a crowded hallway. Didn't matter that everyone was watching, wondering. She was alive. She was out of the house and she looked better than she had in days.

"Whose baby?"

"Jameys' cousin." He answered unsteadily, his eyes never leaving hers. "Why are you here?" He asked in a hurt tone. A tone that suggested that if she was delivering bad news, that he would not be able to handle it. His eyes now pleaded with her to say the things he needed to hear.

"You look good with her."

A stab of anger flashed through him. "Catherine..." He said, almost growled.

She closed the gap between them and gave him a small smile. " I didn't do it." She whispered. "I can't do it."

"Do what?"

"You know what."

His brain began to swirl. Was it possible that she was going to have this baby?

"You mean...You didn't have the..."

She shook her head, resigned to have his baby, if that's what he waned. God knew she was scared, as scared as she'd ever been in her whole life. But she loved him, wanted him to be happy and she had come to the conclusion that she would do anything for him. "Warrick, promise me you'll be there."

He breathed a sigh of relief and joy. "I"ll be there, baby. I promise you. Until the end of time."

He broke out into a wide grin and swept her off her feet, hugging her to him.

"We're gonna have a baby?"

"We're gonna have a baby!"


	44. Coffee and Confusion

Late Wednesday evening…

While the rest of the graveyard shift went back to work, Nick and Catherine sat outside of Jamey's hospital room. It gave the two friends a chance to talk, and for Catherine it was a reprieve from thinking about Lindsay. It felt good to be there for someone else, and Nick had always had a special place in her heart.

" ….and he moved back in last night." Catherine was saying softly. " Not that he had that much stuff…but at least this time it's for good."

" That's the way it should be." He pointed out. " You two make one of the best couples I've ever seen." He paused and chuckled, then looked at her and grinned. " Until one of you gets angry, anyway."

She mock punched his arm, but smiled. " I know. You're right. But he can twist me up and make me angry faster than anybody I know."

" And he also knows you better than anyone else you've ever met." Nick put in. " And probably treats you better too."

" You are _so_ right." She agreed. " You have no idea."

" So you're really having a baby?"

Catherine grinned. " Yup." She shook her head and looked over at him. "Think I'm crazy?" She asked quietly, fear making its way to the surface.

He smiled at her and reached over and took her hand. " Not at all." He said sincerely. " I think you're incredibly brave to open up your heart for a new life so soon after…." He trailed off when he saw the tears that came to her eyes. " I think that this baby is a new beginning for you, for Warrick. And man, he is one happy dude. I'm happy for you. For both of you. You can do this, Catherine."

She squeezed his hand. " Thanks Nicky. I knew there was a reason why I could always talk to you."

"What can I say? I'm a nice guy." He let go of her hand and ran his hand over his face. " Besides, there's nothing better than having a woman you love by your side. It's a beautiful thing, Cath." He said softly. She noticed the way he looked at the closed hospital room door when he spoke. "Love is the only thing that matters at the end of the day."

" You're a helluva guy." She nudged him in the ribs. " And don't forget it." She studied his profile, noting the creases around his eyes, how the usual sparkle just wasn't there…and she knew…..she knew how he felt, who he loved.

She had always wondered, had tossed it around in the back of her brain but had never voiced it, sensing that it was something private between them. She had let the odd joke or comment come out, but she didn't push. It was probably one of the only times she hadn't. Secretly she had always hoped that Nick and Jamey would find each other. Hell, it had taken long enough. But it was here and she decided that now was the time to bring it up.

Only hesitating for a second, she spoke before she lost her nerve. " So, Nicky, you finally got the girl, huh?"

He tried to play it off. " What do you mean? What girl?"

" You can't fool and old fool, Nick."

He glanced over at her, studied her eyes carefully before speaking. In that brief silence it was understood that what he told her was in confidence. It didn't need to be said out loud.

" I asked her to marry me."

Catherine's head dropped to her chest. She sighed deep then cocked her head, looking him directly in the eye. A sudden feeling of sadness came over her. He didn't look thrilled and that could mean only one thing. This time she reached over and took his hand into hers. " And it didn't work out? Did she say no?"

Nick shook his head. " She said yes."

Not understanding, she tried again. " …and…that means what exactly? You aren't happy?" She stood up and motioned for him to do the same. " Come on."

" Where?"

She shook her head. " For a coffee…a walk…whatever." She held out her hand and he accepted, letting her pull him to his feet. " You need to talk and I've been out of the loop for so long now…..well….anyway…..let's go get a coffee and you can tell me all about it."

" Cath….you don't have to do this. I'm fine." He protested. He looked at the closed door to Jamey's room. " What if she needs me?"

She shot him her best stare, pulled her hand out of his and crossed her arms over her chest. " Nick Stokes! You are coming with me and I don't want to hear one more word about it." Her voice softened, dropped an octave. "She'll be here when you get back. Her parents are in there….she'll be fine. But I'm worried about you. Let me help."

He rolled his eyes but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. She'd take it. It was enough for now. " And if I say no?"

" Do you know me at all?"

" Yep. I do."

" And you'd still argue with me when I've made up my mind?"

He gave her a mock salute. " No ma'am. I certainly won't."

" Alright then." They turned and started to walk down the long corridor that lead to the cafeteria. Along the way they chatted about simple things like the weather, the new tattoo she wanted to get with Lindsay's name on it and about upcoming vacation time that he had accrued. He had been thinking about taking a trip to Texas to visit his family. She wanted to keep him talking so that when the time came he'd be ready to tell her what was going on.

They reached the cafeteria and got their coffee. Catherine pointed to an empty table by the window. " Let's go there. It's more private."

They wound their way around the small tables. Even though it was late there were still a lot of people around. Nick spotted Tracey Kent sitting at a table alone. She was talking on her cell phone.

"…..of course she will…" She was saying. She hadn't noticed either Nick or Catherine approaching. " She loves you….it's always been you. No one else matters." They stopped beside her table but Tracey's eyes were shut while she talked. With her free hand she rubbed her temple. " …..Nick is out of the picture….I talked to her this morning…." The sudden sound of Nick's coffee cup hitting the floor startled her and her eyes snapped open.

He only looked at her for a split second before he quickly turned on his heel and began to stride back the way he came, not even bothering to pick up the mess.

" Nick!" Catherine shouted. She turned and shot Tracey a glare. " That was nice! You could have had the conversation in private!"

Tracey, shocked herself, eyed Catherine. " I have to let you go." She said to whomever she had been speaking. " I'll talk to you later." She snapped the phone shut, completely bewildered. " What's wrong? What happened?"

Catherine watched Nick's back as he slammed his way out of the Cafeteria, knowing that he didn't want to be followed. She couldn't help him, so she directed her anger at Tracey. " What the hell do you mean, ' what happened'?" She snapped. " What was all that shit you were saying on the phone?"

It was Tracey's turn to bite. " Excuse me?"

" All that ' Nick is out of the picture' shit! He heard you! When did Jamey plan on telling him this?"

Tracey's mouth opened and formed an 'o'. " Ahhhhhh…..Catherine….I was talking to a friend from back home…..In New York…"

" So…"

" My friend's name, not that it's any of your damn business…" She pointed out. " ….my friend is Owen….I was talking to him about his old girlfriend…..who had dumped him for Nick."

Catherine didn't respond.

Jamey narrowed her eyes. " As in Nick Calvetti. From Brooklyn. Not your Nick."

" _My_ Nick loves Jamey. He thinks that he's being dumped. He's probably on the way to see Jamey right now…..this is a disaster." She snapped.

Tracey stood, suddenly realizing the gravity of the situation. Even though she was pretty she shouldn't be apologizing, she did it anyway. " I'm so sorry…..I couldn't have known that you two were behind me…how could I know?" She held out her hands in a sign of defeat. " Well?" She demanded. " How could I have known?"

" I guess you're right." Catherine conceded. " But it doesn't make it better until we find Nick and explain."

" Ya….I'm sorry." Tracey said again.

" Well, get your ass moving." Catherine said briskly, already starting to walk toward the exit. When Tracey didn't come quickly enough, she turned on her heal and yelled back at her. " Well! Come _on_ already!"

" Bossy, bossy." Tracey muttered as she grabbed her purse and followed behind.

" Heard that."

***************

They didn't find him. Not that finding him would have been easy in a hospital the size of two football fields. Visiting hours were over by the time they got back to Jamey's ward and the nurses were very strict. No visitors allowed until the morning. Both women decided to call it a night. Catherine figured that she would at least get him on his cell phone but it was shut off. Realizing that it would have to wait until morning, they said their goodbyes.

He spent the night at a seedy hotel on the strip. Not that it mattered to him what the room looked like. As soon as he had left the hospital he had proceeded to get roaring drunk and just for good measure he visited two strip clubs. It was something he hadn't done since he was in college. He'd never felt the need….but tonight was different. Tonight was the night he would remember for the rest of his life. She had broke his heart in a way that no other ever had.

He couldn't get over the betrayal of it all. To find out like that, especially from someone else, was just too much. And he'd known it all along, that it was too good to last. Now this Danny was in Vegas. Here to take her back. Well, to hell with her, his mind screamed. His last coherent thought was them together in bed, the morning he asked her to marry him.

The next morning he woke up, head pounding and his stomach sick. He decided that before he could do anything else he had to hear it from her lips. Hear her tell him that she wouldn't marry him and that she was going back home…..trouble was that Vegas was now her home, wasn't it?

He showered and dressed in his filthy clothes.

But who the hell cared what you looked like when you were about to have your heart broken for a second time in twenty-four hours?

He grabbed his wallet and keys and slammed the door behind him.


	45. Breakdown in Communication

Thursday

Jamey opened her eyes and glanced around then sighed with relief. For the first time in two days she found herself alone. Not that she didn't appreciate the concern that everyone had shown…and that was just it; Everyone she knew was either in her hospital room or camped out in the hallway. If one more person asked her how she felt she knew she would scream.

There were too many things to think about, too many questions she had to answer. Her parents hadn't stopped from the minute they laid eyes on her; Nick hadn't left her side for more than a few minutes at a time; Even her sister had been in her face, demanding answers that Jamey felt she couldn't explain. She hadn't even had time to process Julia's death or the fact that she had a daughter who would be accompanying the family back to the city.

Then there was Danny. Her stomach lurched at the thought of seeing him. She wished he would go back to New York without a word but she knew him too well. Once he got something in his head he had to follow it through. As well as she knew her own name, she knew she owed it to him to at least discuss things…but the pain that was associated with him was almost too much to bear.

All her parents could talk about was Danny. Would she talk to him? Would she come back to New York? Would she give it another try with him? Telling her that she should at least talk to ' that poor boy' before he left. She needed to ' clear the air' as her mother put it. Most of the time they didn't even realize that anyone else was in the room, let alone Nick, who seemed to shrink further back into his chair every time her former lover was mentioned. She still hadn't gotten the chance to speak to him about it….or about the fact she was being released today…or that she had agreed to meet Danny at the hotel for supper that evening.

She felt weak and emotionally drained. Weren't people supposed to get rest in the hospital? Peace and quiet. She felt like telling everyone to leave her alone. She needed to think. To decide how to deal with the mess that was her life. It wasn't likely.

As if to prove her right, the door to her room opened and Nick's head appeared. He seemed hesitant, uncomfortable and his eyes showed fatigue mixed with sadness. " Hey. You're awake."

He had been acting strange since the night before. At the time she had thought it was because he was exhausted but now she wasn't sure. Had she been wrong to not kick everyone out of her room and just make time for the two of them? Should she have taken the time to tell him how much she loved him and that it didn't matter that Danny was in town. Nick was the only man she wanted to be with. Danny was her past. Nick was her future. Only she hadn't said a word. She had dozed in and out of consciousness for the past two days and hadn't exactly had much of a chance. Not with everyone she knew practically super glued to her side. "Wasn't sure if you'd be up yet."

She felt his uncertainty and for the first time she was scared.

She smiled weakly. " Hey yourself." She swallowed back the feeling of dread that had come over her. " Are you going to come in or just stand there all day?"

He flashed her a quick grin, but his eyes told a different story. He was hiding something. She swallowed and waved him over. " What's in the bag?"

" Oh, just a little something I picked up at Crazy Monday's on the way over." He walked over to her bed and handed her a brown paper bag and a tall cup of steaming coffee. " I know how you hate not having your morning pick-me-up." He smelled of stale cigarettes and beer and he looked awful.

She found herself smiling, despite everything. Nick could always cheer her up with a cranberry oatmeal bar. They were the best. He bent down and gave her a kiss on the cheek before settling into the chair across from her bed.

" Thanks." She looked down at her lap, feeling the need to explain how she was feeling, but not knowing where to start. " For everything. Really." Raising her eyes, she tried to read his. He waved his hand like ' no big deal' and took a sip of his own coffee without looking at her.

" Nick."

" Hummmm?" He was a million miles away.

" What's wrong?"

He cleared his throat before answering- the one thing she knew he always did when he was upset. " What makes you think something's wrong?"

" Because you cleared your throat before you spoke." She pointed out. "And because you won't look at me."

" I'm fine." He sighed, rubbed a hand over his stubble and focused on the floor. " Tired."

This was a complete role reversal. Usually he was the one cajoling her into talking, never giving up until she had satisfied his need to communicate. When he started to shut down, she realized, it was the start of real trouble between them. Nick had always been her rock, her salvation. The one she could come to and he always made everything better.

" I'm getting out today."

This time he looked up at her. " Really? That's great."

" Ya. I can't wait to go home." She fiddled with her hands, then folded them on her lap. You could cut the tension in the room with a scalpel.

" Yep." He nodded his head absently. " You should be home. Where ever that may be." He muttered almost inaudibly. " You never can get any rest in this place." He took a deep swallow of coffee then rolled the empty cup in his hands. " Listen, I should get going. I need to take care of a few things."

" But…you just got here." The hurt was clear in her voice. He glanced up at her and she saw the hurt in his eyes.

He lost his nerve. Completely chickened out. He wasn't ready to let her go or make it easier on her. His enormous sense of chivalry had kicked in. Even though he was torn inside he didn't have the heart to hurt her or to be mean. Yet.

" Ya. I know. I just wanted to check in."

" I see."

He looked like he was about to cry. He stood up abruptly and tossed the cup into the garbage can. " You need me to get you anything?"

She shook her head. " No…I need you to talk to me, Nick. You're upset and I think I know why--" She had read him right after all. All that talk about Danny being in town had gotten to him. But that was to be expected, wasn't it? Insecurity? Jealousy? It was perfectly reasonable for him to feel that way.

He expelled a long breath from between his lips and gave her a rueful smile. " No, Jame. I don't think you do."

"Well…let's talk about this and maybe you'll understand…"

" Darlin-" He interrupted. " Trust me when I say this: I won't."

She recoiled, as if slapped. " You won't even try and see my side in this?"

" Your side seems pretty clear to me."

" Nick!" The word came out louder than she had intended. " You're upset about Danny, right?"

At the mention of his name, Nick's eyes darkened and his jaw tensed. " What do you want from me Jamey?" His voice rose. " What do you expect me to say? It's alright? I don't mind? Go back with him?"

She was confused. " Back? Back where?"

Now he was angry and it showed. " Please!" He covered his face with his hands for a moment, then lowered them. He glared at her accusingly. " When were you going to tell me? The day before our wedding?"

" Tell you what?" She threw her own hands up in the air. " Tell you what?"

" What didn't I give you?" He hissed, aware that they were in a hospital room with very sick people next door. He tried to get a hold on his temper. " What didn't I do? You said yes to my proposal!"

" I…."

" No!" He spat. " I have loved you for two years! I gave you time! I gave you space and tried to be respectful of your privacy, of your reluctance to talk to me….you never wanted to talk to me…..and now…..now you go and let me find out from your sister of all people! Someone I don't even know! That's just…."

Jamey's eyes widened. Was it possible that Tracey had told Nick that she was going to meet Danny for dinner? She couldn't understand why her sister would say such a thing. Granted, Tracey was angry with her…but to betray her by telling Nick? She couldn't wrap her head around it…but it made sense as to why he was so upset. But it was just a dinner! It wasn't romantic…and she didn't even want to go….she just needed to clean up the past so that she could have her future.

" Can you not just listen to me?" She yelled, not caring who heard. " I don't understand why you're so angry at me…..well….I guess I'd be a little mad too but I'd at least try and understand your point of view…"

He ignored her and started for the door. " Forget it! If you don't have the decency to tell me to my face…"

She started to cry. " My parents have been pressuring me! No would leave me alone about it! Everyone thinks it's the right thing to do….."

" The right thing to do?" He yelled. " I don't believe this!"

" Nick, he was the father of my child…please try and understand!" She cried, flinging off the blankets and swung her legs over the bed.

That did it. He stopped dead, hand on the door. He didn't turn around. Couldn't. " I don't give a fuck what you do!" Was the last thing he said before he yanked open the door.


	46. A Good Day

Thursday morning Warrick and Catherine woke up late. They had been up most of the night talking and working through the things that needed to be said. They talked about Lindsay, about the baby, and lastly about Nick and Jamey.

She had every intention to wake up early and get to the hospital, but as the early morning sunrise greeted the two of them she found herself slipping into a fitful sleep. The truth was she was glad to have something other than herself to worry about. She didn't wish hard times on anyone, but to think about something other than the loss of her daughter was a distraction she needed. She had tried Nick's cell phone at least ten times. He was either ignoring her or it was shut off.

She awoke to the smell of bacon and coffee. Rolling over, she looked at the empty side of the bed where Warrick's body had been and realized just how lucky she was to have him in her life. He had taken her back with no questions asked. Told her he loved her and the baby and that he would be with her forever. Words she'd needed to hear. She couldn't have moved on until she was sure of what he'd wanted.

A new chapter. A new life. A new baby.

As scared as she was she found herself wondering what this child would look like. Would it be a boy or a girl, and would she be able to love it as much as she had Lindsay? As her stomach growled she pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind and threw off the covers. She padded down the stairs, barefoot and into the kitchen.

Warrick was at the stove pouring what she could only imagine was pancake mix into a frying pan. There was a plate of bacon on the counter and a full pot of coffee ready to be drunk. She walked up behind him and slid her arms around his middle, rested her head on his bare back.

" Morning."

" Mornin' baby." He greeted. " Sleep good?"

He tried to turn around but her grip on him tightened. " I love you." She murmured against his flesh. " I've always loved you. Even when I didn't show it. I'm so sorry that I hurt you."

" Catherine." His voice was soft as he set down the spatula and bowl on the free part of the stove. He turned his body, kept her hands around his middle and buried his hands deep into her hair "You don't have to keep apologizing…..I know. It's ok baby. I know you didn't mean to hurt me. It's all gonna be fine." He leaned down and planted a kiss on her nose. "Now go sit your ass down at the table and get some coffee into you."

She stuck her tongue out at him, a sure sign that her feistiness had returned, and strode over to the table. She sat, tucking her legs beneath her, elbows on the table. " You sure are bossy today, Mr. Brown."

" That's right woman. Get used to it." He brought over a steaming mug of coffee and set it in front of her. " Know why?" He asked.

"Why?"

" Cause there's a lot more where that came from."

She snorted. " Ya? Well, bring it on."

He went back to the stove and tended to the pancakes while she opened the paper and began to look at the real estate and want ads. After a few minutes of companionable silence she looked up. " I want to move." She stated.

" What?" He frowned as he piled the pancakes on a plate, grabbed the maple syrup out of the fridge and the bacon and came over to the table. " You serious?"

" Yes….I mean, I think so…." She pushed her long hair behind her ears and secured it into a messy ponytail, grabbing an elastic from around her wrist as she spoke. " I just feel like I can't live here anymore….too many memories and I want something new….a place that neither of us has lived before…"

He sat down and chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. " I dunno, Cath." He placed two pancakes on her plate and then put four on his own before continuing. " Don't you think it may be a little too soon? I know you're hurting now….but what happens when you sell this place and then you change your mind?"

" I know…you're right." She sighed and took a strip of bacon. " But I've thought about this and I know that this is right for me…and I'm hoping that it will be right for you." She watched for his reaction while grabbing another piece.

He set down his fork mid chew. " Babe, whatever is right for you will be fine with me. Hell, I don't care where we live. As long as I'm with you and the baby I won't have a care in the world." He picked up his own coffee, took a big gulp. " But this is where Lindsay grew up. Are you sure that you want to leave this behind?"

" I have my memories. They'll be with me wherever I go." She looked around the room and smiled sadly. " You know, I keep thinking that if I look hard enough or long enough that she'll just come down that hall or call my name. It just doesn't seem real to me that she's gone….but I can't sit here day after day and hope and wish that she'd come back. Every time I come through that front door I expect to see her….on the couch…in here….upstairs." She stopped and sniffled as her eyes filled. " This house reminds me …_every… second …_that I'm here…that she's not. So, yes. I want to move."

He took a deep breath. " Okay. We'll move."

" No problem?"

" None." He stood. " More coffee? No more sad talk this morning."

" Please." She finished her pancake, pushed her plate away. The thought that had been nagging her for sometime was on the surface of her brain and she couldn't wait any longer. She had been thinking about it for months but never had the chance or the nerve to bring it up. " Since we're not talking sadness anymore, what do you think about marriage?"

He stopped and turned to her, an expression of total bewilderment on his face. " What do I think?"

" Keep pouring." She instructed, pointing at him. " Ya…what's your view on the whole thing?"

"What's marriage?"

" Warrick!"

" Oh….marriage…" He pretended to barely understand. " As in a man and a woman? Or a woman and a woman…or a man and a man?"

" Warrick, I'm serious….I'm just wondering what you think about it….if you think about it……maybe you hate the idea….maybe you don't." She rolled her eyes, feeling silly. " It's a perfectly respectable question, you know."

He brought the mugs over to the table and set them both down. He slowly lowered himself into his chair and eyed her thoughtfully. " What do I think about marriage?" He ran a hand through his hair. " I think that people who want to get married….should."

" And have you ever thought about it?"

He nodded. " I have." He took a sip. " And you? Have you thought about it?"

" Yes….I do think about it….sometimes."

" And what do you think when you think about it?" He grinned at her. "Do you think for a long time or a short time?" He was drawing it out and playing with her and truthfully, he was enjoying it immensely. Little did she know that he had an engagement ring for her. Had had it for a long time. Now was probably the time to give it to her but there was no way in hell that he was going to let her propose to him.

She scowled at him. " You're making fun of me!"

He raised his eyebrows. " I am?"

" Yes…you are.."

" How?" He raised his hands in a helpless gesture. " Tell me how? I just wanted to know if you think about it long or short or when you're in the shower…." He rambled on. " Why do you want to know how I feel? Tell me how _you_ feel about it, pooky-poo."

Her mouth fell open, formed an 'o'. " You didn't!" She reached over and slapped his bare shoulder. " I hate that name! You know I hate that name!"

He laughed. Damn, it felt so good to laugh again, even if it was at her expense. " I thought you _liked _that name."

She stood up, annoyed. " You know what? Never mind!" She rounded the corner of the table before he stood up and grabbed her around the waist.

" I was kidding..baby…don't be mad." He kissed her neck, felt her relax in his embrace.

" I just wanted to know what you think, that's all.."

" I know….I was just havin a little fun." He released her. " Hold on a minute…"

" What now?"

He ran upstairs, grabbed the ring and came back down. He found her staring out the patio window. He came up behind her and embraced her again. " Catherine?"

" what?"

He turned her around to face him. " I bought this for you a long time ago." He opened his palm and in it was a shiny diamond. " Marry me?"

It only took her a second to respond. " Yes….YES!"


End file.
